The Warded Man (27 page)

“Keerin wasn’t even there!” Arlen cried. “I cut that demon’s arm off!”

Jaik snorted. “Night, Arlen! You can’t really expect anyone to believe
that.”

Arlen scowled, standing up and calling, “Liar! Fraud!” Everyone turned to see the speaker, as Arlen leapt off his stone and strode toward Keerin. The Jongleur looked up, and his eyes widened in recognition. “Arlen?” he asked, his face suddenly pale.

Jaik, who’d been running after Arlen, pulled up short. “You do know him,” he whispered.

Keerin glanced at the crowd nervously. “Arlen, my boy,” he said, opening his arms, “come, let’s discuss this in private.”

Arlen ignored him. “You didn’t cut that demon’s arm off!” he screamed for all to hear. “You weren’t even there when it happened!”

There was an angry murmur from the crowd. Keerin looked around in fear until someone called “Get that boy out of the square!” and others cheered.

Keerin broke into a wide smile. “No one is going to believe you over me,” he sneered.

“I was there!” Arlen cried. “I’ve got the scars to prove it!” He reached to pull up his shirt, but Keerin snapped his fingers, and suddenly, Arlen and Jaik were surrounded by apprentices.

Trapped, they could do nothing as Keerin walked away, taking the crowd’s attention with him as he snatched his lute and quickly launched into another song.

“Why don’t you shut it, hey?” a burly apprentice growled. The boy was half again Arlen’s size, and all were older than he and Jaik.

“Keerin’s a liar,” Arlen said.

“A demon’s ass, too,” the apprentice agreed, holding up the hat of coins. “Think I care?”

Jaik interposed himself. “No need to get angry,” he said. “He didn’t mean anything …”

But before he finished, Arlen sprang forward, driving his fist into the bigger boy’s gut. As he crumpled, Arlen whirled to face the rest. He bloodied a nose or two, but he was soon pulled down and pummeled. Dimly, he was aware of Jaik sharing the beating beside him until two guards broke up the fight.

“You know,” Jaik said as they limped home, bloody and bruised, “for a bookmole, you’re not half bad in a fight. If only you’d pick your enemies better …”

“I have worse enemies,” Arlen said, thinking of the one-armed demon following him still.

“It wasn’t even a good song,” Arlen said. “How could he draw wards in the dark?”

“Good enough to get into a fight over,” Cob noted, daubing blood from Arlen’s face.

“He was
lying,”
Arlen replied, wincing at the sting.

Cob shrugged. “He was just doing what Jongleurs do, making up entertaining stories.”

“In Tibbet’s Brook, the whole town would come when the Jongleur came,” Arlen said. “Selia said they kept the stories of the old world, passing them down one generation to the next.”

“And so they do,” Cob said. “But even the best ones exaggerate, Arlen. Or did you really believe the first Deliverer killed a hundred rock demons in a single blow?”

“I used to,” Arlen said with a sigh. “Now I don’t know what to believe.”

“Welcome to adulthood,” Cob said. “Every child finds a day when they realize that adults can be weak and wrong just like anyone else. After that day, you’re an adult, like or not.”

“I never thought about it that way,” Arlen said, realizing his day had come long before. In his mind’s eye, he saw Jeph hiding behind the wards of their porch while his mother was cored.

“Was Keerin’s lie really such a bad thing?” Cob asked. “It made people happy. It gave them hope. Hope and happiness are in short supply these days, and much needed.”

“He could have done all that with honest word,” Arlen said. “But instead he took credit for my deeds just to make more coin.”

“Are you after truth, or credit?” Cob asked. “Should credit matter? Isn’t the message what’s important?”

“People need more than a song,” Arlen said. “They need proof that corelings can bleed.”

“You sound like a Krasian martyr,” Cob said, “ready to throw your life away seeking the Creator’s paradise in the next world.”

“I read their afterlife is filled with naked women and rivers of wine.” Arlen smirked.

“And all you need do to enter is take a demon with you before you’re cored,” Cob agreed. “But I’ll take my chances with this life all the same. The next one will find you no matter where you run. No sense chasing it.”

“THREE MOONS SAYS HE HEADS EAST,” Gaims said, jingling the silver coins as One Arm rose.

“Taken,” Woron said. “He’s gone east three nights running. He’s ready for a change.”

As always, the rock demon snuffled about before testing the wards at the gate. It moved methodically, never missing a spot. When the gate proved secure, the coreling moved to the east.

“Night,” Woron cursed. “I was sure this time he’d do something different.” He fished in his pocket for coins as the shrieks of the demon and the crackle of activated wards died out.

Both guardsmen looked over the rail, the bet forgotten, and saw One Arm staring at the wall curiously. Other corelings gathered around, but kept a respectful distance from the giant.

Suddenly, the demon lunged forward with just two talons extended. There was no flare from the wards, and the crack of stone came clearly to the guards’ ears. Their blood went cold.

With a roar of triumph, the rock demon struck again, this time with its whole hand. Even in starlight, the guards saw the chunk of stone that came away in its claws.

“The horn,” Gaims said, gripping the rail with shaking hands. His leg grew warm, and it took him a moment to realize he had wet himself. “Sound the horn.”

There was no movement next to him. He looked over at Woron, and saw his partner staring at the rock demon with his mouth open, a single tear running down the side of his face.

“Sound the ripping horn!” Gaims screamed, and Woron snapped out of his daze, running to the mounted horn. It took him several tries to sound a note. By then, One Arm was spinning and striking the wall with its spiked tail, tearing out more and more rock each time.

Cob shook Arlen awake.

“Who … wazzat?” Arlen asked, rubbing his eyes. “Is it morning already?”

“No,” Cob said. “The horns are sounding. There’s a breach.”

Arlen sat bolt upright, his face gone cold. “Breach? There are corelings in the city?”

“There are,” Cob agreed, “or soon will be. Up with you!”

The two scrambled to light lamps and gather their tools, pulling on thick cloaks and fingerless gloves to help stave off the cold without impeding their work.

The horns sounded again. “Two blasts,” Cob said, “one short, one long. The breach is between the first and second watchposts to the east of the main gate.”

A clatter of hooves sounded on the cobblestones outside, followed by a pounding on the door. They opened it to find Ragen in full armor, a long, thick spear in hand. His warded shield was slung on the saddle horn of a heavy destrier. Not a sleek and affectionate courser like Nighteye, this beast was broad and ill-tempered, a warhorse bred for times long gone.

“Elissa is beside herself,” the Messenger explained. “She sent me to keep you two alive.”

Arlen frowned, but a touch of the fear that gripped him on waking slipped away with Ragen’s arrival. They hitched their sturdy garron to the warding cart, and were off, following the shouts, crashes, and flashes of light toward the breach.

The streets were empty, doors and shutters locked tight, but Arlen could see cracks of light around them, and knew the people of Miln were awake, biting nails and praying their wards would hold. He heard weeping, and thought of how dependent the Milnese were upon their wall.

They arrived at a scene of utter chaos. Guardsmen and Warders lay dead and dying on the cobbled streets, spears broken and burning. Three bloodied men-at-arms wrestled with a wind demon, attempting to pin it long enough for a pair of Warder’s apprentices to trap it in a portable circle. Others ran to and fro with buckets of water, trying to smother the many small fires as flame demons scampered about in glee, setting alight everything in reach.

Arlen looked at the breach, amazed that a coreling could dig through twenty feet of solid rock. Demons jammed the hole, clawing at each other to be next to pass into the city.

A wind demon squeezed through, getting a running start as it spread its wings. A guard hurled his spear at it, but the missile fell short, and the demon flew into the city unchallenged. A moment later, a flame demon leapt upon the now-unarmed guard and tore his throat out.

“Quickly, boy!” Cob shouted. “The guards are buying us time, but they won’t last long against a breach this size. We need to seal it fast!” He sprang from the cart with surprising agility and snatched two portable circles from the back, handing one to Arlen.

With Ragen riding protectively beside them, they sprinted toward the keyward flag of the Warders’ Guild, marking the protective circle where the Warders had set up their base. Unarmed Herb Gatherers were tending rows of wounded there, fearlessly darting out of the circle to assist men stumbling toward the sanctuary. They were a scant few to tend so many.

Mother Jone, the duke’s advisor, and Master Vincin, the head of the Warders’ Guild, greeted them. “Master Cob, good to have you …” Jone began.

“Where are we needed?” Cob asked Vincin, ignoring Jone completely.

“The main breach,” Vincin said. “Take the posts for fifteen and thirty degrees,” he said, pointing toward a stack of ward-posts. “And by the Creator, be careful! There’s a devil of a rock demon there—the one that made the breach in the first place. They have it trapped from heading further into the city, but you’ll have to cross the wards to get into position. It’s killed three Warders already, and Creator only knows how many guards.”

Cob nodded, and he and Arlen headed over to the pile. “Who was on duty at dusk tonight?” he asked as they took their load.

“Warder Macks and his apprentices,” Jone replied. “The duke will hang them for this.”

“Then the duke is a fool,” Vincin said. “There’s no telling what happened out there, and Miln needs every Warder it has and more.” He blew out a long breath. “There will be few enough left after tonight, as is.”

“Set up your circle first,” Cob said for the third time. “When you’re safe within, set the post in its stand and wait for the magnesium. It’ll be bright as day, so shield your eyes until it comes. Then center yours to the dial on the main post. Don’t try to link with the other posts. Trust their Warders to get it right. When it’s done, drive stakes between the cobbles to hold it in place.” “And then?” Arlen asked.

“Stay in the corespawned circle until you’re told to come out,” Cob barked, “no matter what you see, even if you’re in there all night! Is that clear?”

Arlen nodded.

“Good,” Cob said. He scanned the chaos, waiting, waiting, then shouted “Now!” and they were off, dodging around fires, bodies, and rubble, heading for their positions. In seconds, they cleared a row of buildings and saw the one-armed rock demon towering over a squad of guardsmen and a dozen corpses. Its talons and jaws glistened with blood in the lamplight.

Arlen’s blood went cold. He stopped short and looked to Ragen, and the Messenger met his eye for a moment. “Must be after Keerin,” Ragen said wryly.

Arlen opened his mouth, but before he could reply, Ragen screamed “Look out!” and swiped his spear Arlen’s way.

Arlen fell and dropped his post, banging his knee badly on the cobblestones. He heard the crack as the butt of Ragen’s spear took a diving wind demon in the face, and rolled over in time to see the coreling carom off the Messenger’s shield and crash to the ground.

Ragen trampled the creature with his warhorse as he kicked into a gallop, grabbing Arlen just as he picked up his post and half dragging, half carrying him over to his position. Cob had already set up his portable circle and was preparing the stand for his wardpost.

Arlen wasted no time setting up his own circle, but his eyes kept flicking back to One Arm. The demon was clawing at the hastily placed wards before it, trying to power through. Arlen could see weaknesses in the net each time it flared, and knew it would not hold forever.

The rock demon sniffed and looked up suddenly, meeting Arlen’s eyes, and the two matched wills for a moment, until it became too much to bear and Arlen dropped his gaze. One Arm shrieked and redoubled its efforts to break through the weakening wards.

“Arlen, stop staring and do your ripping job!” Cob screamed, snapping Arlen out of his daze. Trying his best to block out the shrieks of the coreling and the shouting of guardsmen, he set the collapsible iron stand and placed his wardpost within. He angled it as best he could in the dim flickering light, then placed a hand over his eyes to wait for the magnesium.

The flare went off a moment later, turning night into day. The Warders angled their posts quickly and staked them in place. They waved with white cloths to signal completion.

His work done, Arlen scanned the rest of the area. Several Warders and apprentices were still struggling to set their posts. One post was alight with demonfire. Corelings were screaming and recoiling from the magnesium, terrified that somehow the hated sun had come. Guardsmen surged forward with spears, attempting to drive them back past the wardposts before they activated. Ragen did the same, galloping about upon his destrier, his polished shield reflecting the light and sending corelings scrambling away in fear.

But the false light could not truly hurt the corelings. One Arm did not recoil as a squad of guardsmen, emboldened in the light, sent a row of spears its way. Many of the spear tips broke or skittered off the rock demon’s armor, and it grabbed at others, yanking hard and pulling the men past the wards as easily as a child might swing a doll.

Arlen watched the carnage in horror. The demon bit the head off one man and flung his body back into the others, knocking several from their feet. It squashed another man underfoot, and sent a third flying with a sweep of its spiked tail. He landed hard and did not rise.

The wards holding the demon back were buried beneath the bodies and blood, and One Arm bulled forward, killing at will. The guards fell back, some fleeing entirely, but as soon as they backed off, they were forgotten as the giant coreling charged Arlen’s portable circle.

“Arlen!” Ragen screamed, wheeling his destrier about. In his panic at the sight of the charging demon, the Messenger seemed to forget the portable circle in which the boy stood. He couched his spear and kicked the horse into a gallop, aiming at One Arm’s back.

The rock demon heard his approach and turned at the last moment, setting its feet and taking the spear full in the chest. The weapon splintered, and with a contemptuous swipe of its claws, the giant demon crushed the horse’s skull.

The destrier’s head twisted to the side and it backpedaled into Cob’s circle, knocking him into his wardpost and sending it askew. Ragen had no time to untangle himself, and the animal took him down with it, crushing his leg and pinning him. One Arm moved in for the kill.

Arlen screamed and looked for aid, but there was none to be found. Cob was clutching at his wardpost, trying to pull himself upright. All the other Warders around the breach were signaling. They had replaced the burning post, and only Cob’s remained out of place, but there was no one to aid him; the city guard had been decimated in One Arm’s last assault. Even if Cob quickly fixed his post, Arlen knew Ragen was doomed. One Arm was on the wrong side of the net.

“Hey!” he cried, stepping from his circle and waving his arms. “Hey, ugly!”

“Arlen, get back in your ripping circle!” Cob screamed, but it was too late. The rock demon’s head whipped around at the sound of Arlen’s voice.

“Oh yeah, you heard,” Arlen murmured, his face flushing hot and then immediately going cold. He glanced past the ward-posts. The corelings were growing bold as the magnesium began to die down. Stepping in there would be suicide.

But Arlen remembered his previous encounters with the rock demon, and how it jealously regarded him as its own. With that thought, he turned and ran past the wardposts, catching the attention of a hissing flame demon. The coreling pounced, eyes aflame, but so did One Arm, driving forward to smash the lesser demon.

Even as it whirled back to him, Arlen was diving back past the wardposts. One Arm struck hard at him, but light flared, and it was thwarted. Cob had restored his post, establishing the net. One Arm shrieked in rage, pounding at the barrier, but it was impenetrable.

He ran to Ragen’s side. Cob swept him into a hug, and then cuffed him on the ear. “You ever pull a stunt like that again,” the master warned, “and I’ll break your scrawny neck.”

“I was s’posed to protect
you
 
…” Ragen agreed weakly, his mouth twitching in a smile.

There were still corelings loose in the city when Vincin and Jone dismissed the Warders. The remaining guardsmen helped the Herb Gatherers transport the wounded to the city’s hospits.

“Shouldn’t someone hunt down the ones that got away?” Arlen asked as they eased Ragen into the back of their cart. His leg was splinted, and the Herb Gatherers had given him a tea to numb the pain, leaving him sleepy and distant.

“To what end?” Cob asked. “It would only get the hunters killed, and make no difference in the morning. Better to get inside. The sun will do for any corelings left in Miln.”

“The sun is still hours away,” Arlen protested as he climbed into the cart.

“What do you propose?” Cob asked, watching warily as they rode. “You saw the full force of the Duke’s Guard at work tonight, hundreds of men with spears and shields. Trained Warders, too. Did you see a single demon killed? Of course not. They are immortal.”