The Warded Man

by Peter V. Brett

  Rojer nodded, but his eyes grew wet. Leesha squeezed his hand. “Herb Gatherers see death often,” she told him. “No one, no one, ever goes to the Creator with all their business complete. We all get a different length of time, but it needs to be enough, regardless.”

  “It just seems to come early for the people who cross my path,” Rojer sighed.

  “I’ve seen it come early for a great many who have never heard of Rojer Halfgrip,” Leesha said. “Would you like to shoulder the blame for their deaths, as well?”

  Rojer looked at her, and she pressed another forkful into his mouth. “It doesn’t serve the dead to stop living yourself, out of guilt,” she said.

  Leesha had her hands full of linens when the Messenger arrived. She slipped the letter from Vika into her apron, and left the rest for later. She finished putting away the laundry, but then a girl ran up to tell her a patient had coughed blood. After that, she had to set a broken arm, and give the apprentices their lesson. Before she knew it, the sun had set, and the apprentices were all in bed. She turned the wicks down to a dim orange glow, and made a last sweep through the rows of beds, making sure the patients were comfortable before she went upstairs for the night. She met Rojer’s eyes as she passed, and he beckoned, but she smiled and shook her head. She pointed to him, then put her hands together as if praying, leaned her cheek against them, and closed her eyes.

  Rojer frowned, but she winked at him and kept on, knowing he wouldn’t follow. His casts had come off, but Rojer complained of pain and weakness despite the clean mend.

  At the end of the room, she took the time to pour herself a cup of water. It was a warm spring night, and the pitcher was damp with condensation. She brushed her hand against her apron absently to dry it, and there was a crinkle of paper. She remembered Vika’s letter and pulled it out, breaking the seal with her thumb and tilting the page toward the lamp as she drank.

  A moment later, she dropped her cup. She didn’t notice, or hear the ceramic shatter. She clutched the paper tightly and fled the room.

  Leesha was sobbing quietly in the darkened kitchen when Rojer found her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “Rojer?” she sniffed. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  Rojer didn’t answer, coming to sit beside her. “Bad news from home?” he asked.

  Leesha looked at him a moment, then nodded. “That chill my father caught?” she asked, waiting for Rojer to nod his recollection before going on. “He seemed to get better, but it came back with a vengeance. Turns out it was a flux that’s run from one end of the Hollow to the other. Most seem to be pulling through it, but the weaker ones …” She began to weep again.

  “Someone you know?” Rojer asked, cursing himself as he said it. Of course it was someone she knew. Everyone knew everyone in the hamlets.

  Leesha didn’t notice the slip. “My mentor, Bruna,” she said, fat teardrops falling onto her apron. “A few others, as well, and two children I never had the chance to meet. Over a dozen in all, and more than half the town still laid up. My father worst amongst them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rojer said.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me; it’s my fault,” Leesha said.

  “What?” Rojer asked.

  “I should have been there,” Leesha said. “I haven’t been Jizell’s apprentice in years. I promised to return to Cutter’s Hollow when my studies were done. If I had kept my promise, I would have been there, and perhaps …”

  “I saw the flux kill some people in Woodsend once,” Rojer said. “Would you like to add those to your conscience? Or those that die in this very city, because you can’t tend them all?”

  “That’s not the same and you know it,” Leesha said.

  “Isn’t it?” Rojer asked. “You said yourself that it does nothing to serve the dead if you stop living yourself out of guilt.”

  Leesha looked at him, her eyes round and wet.

  “So what do you want to do?” Rojer asked. “Spend the night crying, or start packing?”

  “Packing?” Leesha asked.

  “I have a Messenger’s portable circle,” Rojer said. “We can leave for Cutter’s Hollow in the morning.”

  “Rojer, you can barely walk!” Leesha said.

  Rojer lifted his cane, set it on the counter, and stood. He walked a bit stiffly, but unaided.

  “Been faking to keep your warm bed and doting women a bit longer?” Leesha asked.

  “I never!” Rojer blushed. “I’m … just not ready to perform yet.”

  “But you’re fit to walk all the way to Cutter’s Hollow?” Leesha asked. “It would take a week without a horse.”

  “I doubt I’ll need to do any backflips on the way,” Rojer said.

  “I can do it.”

  Leesha crossed her arms and shook her head. “No. I absolutely forbid it.”

  “I’m not some apprentice you can forbid,” Rojer said.

  “You’re my patient,” Leesha shot back, “and I’ll forbid anything that puts your healing in jeopardy. I’ll hire a Messenger to take me.”

  “Good luck finding one,” Rojer said. “The weekly man south will have left today, and at this time of year, most of the others will be booked. It’ll cost a fortune to convince one to drop everything and take you to Cutter’s Hollow. Besides, I can drive corelings away with my fiddle. No Messenger can offer you that.”

  “I’m sure you could,” Leesha said, her tone making it clear she was sure of no such thing, “but what I need is a swift Messenger’s horse, not a magic fiddle.” She ignored his protests, ushering him back to bed, and then went upstairs to pack her things.

  “So you’re sure about this?” Jizell asked the next morning.

  “I have to go,” Leesha said. “It’s too much for Vika and Darsy to handle alone.”

  Jizell nodded. “Rojer seems to think he’s taking you,” she said.

  “Well he’s not,” Leesha said. “I’m hiring a Messenger.” “He’s been packing his things all morning,” Jizell said. “He’s barely healed,” Leesha said.

  “Bah!” Jizell said. “It’s near three moons. I haven’t seen him use his cane all morning. I think it’s been nothing more than a reason to be around you for some time.”

  Leesha’s eyes bulged. “You think that Rojer …?”

  Jizell shrugged. “I’m just saying, it isn’t every day a man comes along who’ll brave corelings for your sake.”

  “Jizell, I’m old enough to be his mother!” Leesha said.

  “Bah!” Jizell scoffed. “You’re only twenty-seven, and Rojer says he’s twenty.”

  “Rojer says a lot of things that aren’t so,” Leesha said.

  Jizell shrugged again.

  “You say you’re nothing like my mum,” Leesha said, “but you both find a way to turn every tragedy into a discussion about my love life.”

  Jizell opened her mouth to reply, but Leesha held up a hand to stay her. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I have a Messenger to hire.” She left the kitchen in a fume, and Rojer, listening at the door, barely managed to get out of her way and out of sight.

  Between her father’s arrangements and her earnings from Jizell, Leesha was able to acquire a promissory note from the Duke’s Bank for one hundred fifty Milnese suns. It was a sum beyond the dreams of Angierian peasantry, but Messengers didn’t risk their lives for klats. She’d hoped it would be enough, but Rojer’s words proved prophetic, or a curse.

  Spring trade was on in full, and even the worst Messengers had assignments. Skot was out of the city, and the secretary at the Messengers’ Guild flat-out refused to help her. The best they could offer was next week’s man south, a full six days away.

  “I could walk there in that time!” she shouted at the clerk.

  “Then I suggest you get started,” the man said dryly.

  Leesha bit her tongue and stomped off. She thought she would lose her mind if she had to wait a week to leave. If her father died in
that week …

  “Leesha?” a voice called. She stopped short, turning slowly.

  “It is you!” Marick called, striding up to her with his arms outspread. “I didn’t realize you were still in the city!” Shocked, Leesha let him embrace her.

  “What are you doing in the guildhouse?” Marick asked, backing up to eye her appreciatively. He was still handsome, with his wolf eyes.

  “I need an escort to take me back to Cutter’s Hollow,” she said. “There’s a flux sweeping the town, and they need my help.”

  “I could take you, I suppose,” Marick said. “I’ll need to call a favor to cover my run to Riverbridge tomorrow, but that should be easy enough.”

  “I have money,” Leesha said.

  “You know I don’t take money for escort work,” Marick said, leering at her as he swept in close. “There’s only one payment that interests me.” His hand reached around to squeeze her buttock, and Leesha resisted the urge to pull away. She thought of the people that needed her, and more, she thought of what Jizell had said about flowers no one saw. Perhaps it was the Creator’s plan that she should meet Marick this day. She swallowed hard and nodded at him.

  Marick swept Leesha into a shadowed alcove off the main hall. He pushed her against the wall behind a wooden statue and kissed her deeply. After a moment, she returned the kiss, putting her arms around his shoulders, his tongue warm in her mouth.

  “I won’t have that problem this time,” Marick promised, taking her hand and placing it on his rigid manhood.

  Leesha smiled timidly. “I could come to your inn before dark,” she said. “We could … spend the night, and leave in the morning.”

  Marick looked from side to side, and shook his head. He pushed her against the wall again, reaching down with one hand to unbuckle his belt. “I’ve waited for this too long,” he grunted. “I’m ready now, and I’m not letting it get away!”

  “I’m not doing it in a hallway!” Leesha hissed, pushing him back. “Someone will see!”

  “No one will see,” Marick said, pressing in and kissing her again. He produced his stiff member, and started pulling up her skirts. “You’re here, like magic,” he said, “and this time, so am I. What more could you want?”

  “Privacy?” Leesha asked. “A bed? A pair of candles? Anything!”

  “A Jongleur singing outside the window?” Marick mocked, his fingers probing between her legs to find her opening. “You sound like a virgin.”

  “I am a virgin!” Leesha hissed.

  Marick pulled away, his erection still in his hand, and looked at her wryly. “Everyone in Cutter’s Hollow knows you stuck that ape Gared a dozen times at least,” he said. “Are you still lying about it after all this time?”

  Leesha scowled and drove her knee hard into his crotch, storming out of the guildhouse while Marick was still groaning on the ground.

  “No one would take you?” Rojer asked that night.

  “No one I wouldn’t have to bed in exchange,” Leesha grunted, leaving out that she had indeed been willing to go that far. Even now, she worried that she’d made a huge mistake. Part of her wished she had just let Marick have his way, but even if Jizell was right and her maidenhead wasn’t the most precious thing in all the world, it was surely worth more than that.

  She scrunched up her eyes too late, only serving to squeeze out the tears she sought to prevent. Rojer touched her face, and she looked at him. He smiled and reached out, producing a brightly colored handkerchief as if from her ear. She laughed in spite of herself, and took the kerchief to dry her eyes.

  “I could still take you,” he said. “I walked all the way from here to Shepherd’s Dale. If I can do that, I can get you to Cutter’s Hollow.”

  “Truly?” Leesha asked, sniffing. “That’s not just one of your Jak Scaletongue stories, like being able to charm corelings with your fiddle?”

  “Truly,” Rojer said.

  “Why would you do that for me?” Leesha asked.

  Rojer smiled, taking her hand in his crippled one. “We’re survivors, aren’t we?” he asked. “Someone once told me that survivors have to look out for one another.”

  Leesha sobbed, and hugged him.

  Am I going mad? Rojer asked himself as they left the gates of Angiers behind. Leesha had purchased a horse for the trip, but Rojer had no riding experience, and Leesha little more. He sat behind her as she guided the beast at a pace barely faster than they could walk.

  Even then, the horse jarred his stiff legs painfully, but Rojer did not complain. If he said anything before they were out of sight of the city, Leesha would make them turn back.

  Which is what you should do anyway, he thought. You’re a Jongleur, not a Messenger.

  But Leesha needed him, and he knew from the first time he saw her that he could never refuse her anything. He knew she saw him as a child, but that would change when he brought her home. She would see there was more to him; that he could take care of himself, and her as well.

  And what was there for him in Angiers, anyway? Jaycob was gone, and the guild likely thought he was dead, as well, which was probably for the best. “If you go to the guard, it’s you they’ll hang,” Jasin had said, but Rojer was smart enough to know that if Goldentone ever learned he was alive, he would never get the chance to tell tales.

  He looked at the road ahead, though, and his gut clenched. Like Cricket Run, Farmer’s Stump was just a day away on horseback, but Cutter’s Hollow was much farther, perhaps four nights even with the horse. Rojer had never spent more than two nights outside, and that just the once. Arrick’s death flashed in his mind. Could he handle losing Leesha, too?

  “Are you all right?” Leesha asked.

  “What?” Rojer replied.

  “Your hands are shaking,” Leesha said.

  He looked at his hands on her waist, and saw that she was right. “It’s nothing,” he managed. “I just felt a chill out of nowhere.”

  “I hate that,” Leesha said, but Rojer barely heard. He stared at his hands, trying to will them to stillness.

  You’re an actor! he scolded himself. Act brave!

  He thought of Marko Rover, the brave explorer in his stories. Rojer had described the man and mummed his adventures so many times, every trait and mannerism was second nature to him. His back straightened, and his hands ceased to shake.

  “Let me know when you get tired,” he said, “and I’ll take over the reins.”

  “I thought you’ve never ridden before,” Leesha said.

  “You learn things by doing them,” Rojer said, quoting the line Marko Rover used whenever he encountered something new.

  Marko Rover was never afraid to do things he’d never done before.

  With Rojer at the reins, they made better time, but even so, they barely made it to Farmer’s Stump before dusk. They stabled the horse and made their way to the inn.

  “You a Jongleur?” the innkeep asked, taking in Rojer’s motley.

  “Rojer Halfgrip,” Rojer said, “out of Angiers and points west.”

  “Never heard of you,” the innkeep grunted, “but the room’s free if you put on a show.”

  Rojer looked to Leesha, and when she shrugged and nodded, he smiled, pulling out his bag of marvels.

  Farmer’s Stump was a small cluster of buildings and houses, all connected by warded boardwalks. Unlike any other village Rojer had ever been to, the Stumpers went outside at night, walking freely—if hastily—from building to building.

  The freedom meant a full taproom, which pleased Rojer well. He performed for the first time in months, but it felt natural, and he soon had the entire room clapping and laughing at tales of Jak Scaletongue and the Warded Man.

  When he returned to his seat, Leesha’s face was a little flushed with wine. “You were wonderful,” she said. “I knew you would be.”

  Rojer beamed, and was about to say something when a pair of men came over, bearing a handful of pitchers. They handed one to Rojer, and another to Leesha.

 
“Just a thanks for the show,” the lead man said. “I know it ent much …”

  “It’s wonderful, thank you,” Rojer said. “Please, join us.” He gestured to the empty seats at their table. The two men sat.

  “What brings you through the Stump?” the first man asked. He was short, with a thick black beard. His companion was taller, burlier, and mute.

  “We’re heading to Cutter’s Hollow,” Rojer said. “Leesha is an Herb Gatherer, going to help them fight the flux.”

  “Hollow’s a long way,” the man with the black beard said. “How’ll you last the nights?”

  “Don’t fear for us,” Rojer said. “We have a Messenger’s circle.”

  “Portable circle?” the man asked in surprise. “That must’a cost a pretty pile.”

  Rojer nodded. “More than you know,” he said.

  “Well, we won’t keep you from yer beds,” the man said, he and his companion rising from the table. “You’ll want an early start.” They moved away, going to join a third man at another table as Rojer and Leesha finished their drinks and headed to their room.

  CHAPTER 27

  NIGHTFALL

  332 AR

  “LOOK AT ME! I’m a Jongleur!” said one of the men, plopping the belled motley cap on his head and prancing around the road. The black-bearded man barked a laugh, but their third companion, larger than both of them combined, said nothing. All were smiling.

  “I’d like to know what that witch threw at me,” the black-bearded man said. “Dunked my whole head in the stream, and it still feels like my eyes are on fire.” He held up the circle and the reins of the horse, grinning. “Still, an easy take like that only comes along once a’life.”

  “Be months before we need t’work again,” the man in the motley cap agreed, jingling the purse of coins, “and not a scratch on us!” He jumped up and clicked his heels.

  “Maybe not a scratch on you,” chuckled the black-bearded man, “but I’ve a few on my back! That arse was worth nearly as much as the circle, even if that dust she threw in my eyes made it so I could barely see what went where.” The man in the motley cap laughed, and their giant mute companion clapped his hands with a grin.