The Warded Man (48 page)

“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.

“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.

“Should’ve taken her with us,” the man in the motley cap said. “Gets cold in that miserable cave.”

“Don’t be stupid,” the black-bearded man said. “We got a horse and a Messenger circle, now. We don’t need to stay in the cave no more, and that’s best. Word in the Stump’s that the duke’s noticin’ them just leaving the town gettin’ hit. We go south first thing come morning, before we’ve got Rhinebeck’s guards on our heels.”

The men were so busy with their discussion, they didn’t notice the man riding down the road toward them until he was just a dozen yards away. In the waning light, he seemed wraithlike, wrapped in flowing robes and astride a dark horse, moving in the shadow of the trees beside the forest road.

When they did take note of him, the mirth on their faces fell away, replaced with looks of challenge. The black-bearded man dropped the portable circle to the ground and pulled a heavy cudgel from the horse, advancing on the stranger. He was squat and thickly set, with thinning hair above his long, unkempt beard. Behind him, the mute raised a club the size of a small tree, and the man in the motley cap brandished a spear, the head nicked and burred.

“This here’s our road,” the black-bearded man explained to the stranger. “We’re fine to share, like, but there’s a tax.”

In answer, the stranger stepped his horse from the shadows.

A quiver of heavy arrows hung from his saddle, the bow strung and in easy reach. A spear as long as a lance rested in a harness on the other side, a rounded shield beside it. Strapped behind his seat, several shorter spears jutted, their points glittering wickedly in the setting sun.

But the stranger reached for no weapon, merely letting his hood slip back a bit. The men’s eyes widened, and their leader backed away, scooping up the portable circle.

“Might let you pass just the once,” he amended, glancing back at the others. Even the giant had gone pale with fear. They kept their weapons ready, but carefully edged around the giant horse and backed down the road.

“We’d best not see you on this road again!” the black-bearded man called, when they were a safe distance away.

The stranger rode on, unconcerned.

Rojer fought his terror as their voices receded. They had told him they would kill him if he tried to rise again. He reached into his secret pocket to take hold of his talisman, but all he found were some broken bits of wood and a clump of yellow-gray hair. It must have broken when the mute kicked him in the gut. He let the remnants fall from his numb fingers into the mud.

The sound of Leesha’s sobs cut into him, making him afraid to look up. He had made that mistake before, when the giant had gotten off his back to take his turn with Leesha. One of the others had quickly taken his place, using Rojer’s back as a bench to watch the fun.

There was little intelligence in the giant’s eyes, but if he lacked the sadism of his companions, his dumb lust was a terror in itself; the urges of an animal in the body of a rock demon. If Rojer could have removed the image of him atop Leesha from his mind by clawing out his eyes, he would not have hesitated.

He had been a fool, advertising their path and valuables like that. Too much time spent in the Western hamlets had dulled his natural, city-bred distrust of strangers.

Marko Rover wouldn’t have trusted them
, he thought.

But that wasn’t entirely true. Marko was forever getting tricked or clubbed on the head and left for dead. He survived by keeping his wits afterward.

He survives because it’s a story and you control the ending
, Rojer reminded himself.

But the image of Marko Rover picking himself up and dusting himself off stuck with him, and eventually, Rojer gathered his strength and his nerve, forcing himself to his knees. Pain shot through him, but he did not think they had broken any bones. His left eye was so swollen he could barely see out of it, and he tasted blood in his mouth from his thickened lip. He was covered in bruises, but Abrum had done worse.

But there were no guardsmen, this time, to haul him to safety. No mother or master to put themselves in a demon’s path.

Leesha whimpered again, and guilt shook him. He had fought to save her honor, but they had been three, all armed and stronger than him. What could he have done?

I wish they’d killed me
, he thought to himself, slumping.
Better dead than to have seen …

Coward
, a voice in the back of his head snarled.
Get up. She needs you
.

Rojer staggered to his feet, looking around. Leesha was curled up in the dirt of the forest road, sobbing, without even the strength to cover her shame. There was no sign of the bandits.

Of course, it hardly mattered. They had taken his portable circle, and without it he and Leesha were as good as dead. Farmer’s Stump was almost a full day behind them, and there was nothing ahead on the road for several days’ walk. It would be dark in little more than an hour.

Rojer ran to Leesha’s side, falling to his knees beside her. “Leesha, are you all right?” he asked, cursing himself for the crack in his voice. She needed him to be strong.

“Leesha, please answer me,” he begged, squeezing her shoulder.

Leesha ignored him, curled up tight, shaking as she wept. Rojer stroked her back and whispered comfort to her, subtly tugging her dress back down. Whatever place her mind had retreated to in order to withstand the ordeal, she was reluctant to leave it. He tried to hold her in his arms, but she shoved him violently away, curling right back up, wracked with tears.

Leaving her side, Rojer picked through the dirt, gathering what few things had been left them. The bandits had dug through their bags, taking what they wanted and tossing the rest, mocking and destroying their personal effects. Leesha’s clothing lay scattered in the road, and Rojer found Arrick’s brightly colored bag of marvels trampled in the muck. Much of what it had contained was taken or smashed. The painted wooden juggling balls were stuck in the mud, but Rojer left them where they lay.

Off the road where the mute had kicked it, he spied his fiddle case, and dared to hope they might survive. He rushed over to find the case broken open. The fiddle itself was salvageable with a little tuning and some new strings, but the bow was nowhere to be found.

Rojer looked as long as he dared, throwing leaves and underbrush in every direction with mounting panic, but to no avail. It was gone. He put the fiddle back in its case and spread out one of Leesha’s long skirts, bundling the few salvageable items within.

A strong breeze broke the stillness, rustling the leaves of the trees. Rojer looked up at the setting sun, and realized suddenly, in a way he had not before, that they were going to die. What did it matter if he had a bowless fiddle and some clothes with him when it happened?

He shook his head. They weren’t dead yet, and it was possible to avoid corelings for a night, if you kept your wits. He squeezed his fiddle case reassuringly. If they lived through the night, he could cut off a lock of Leesha’s hair and make a new bow. The corelings couldn’t hurt them if he had his fiddle.

To either side of the road, the woods loomed dark and dangerous, but Rojer knew corelings hunted men above all other creatures. They would stalk the road. The woods were their best hope to find a hiding place, or a secluded spot to prepare a circle.

How?
that hated voice asked again.
You never bothered to learn
.

He moved back to Leesha, kneeling gently by her side. She was still shuddering, crying silently. “Leesha,” he said quietly, “we need to get off the road.”

She ignored him.

“Leesha, we need to find a place to hide.” He shook her. Still no response. “Leesha, the sun is setting!”

The sobbing stopped, and Leesha raised wide, frightened eyes. She looked at his concerned, bruised face, and her face screwed up as her crying resumed.

But Rojer knew he had touched her for a moment, and refused to let that go. He could think of few things worse than what had happened to her, but getting torn apart by corelings was one of them. He gripped her shoulders and shook her violently.

“Leesha, you need to get ahold of yourself!” he shouted. “If we don’t find a place to hide soon, the sun is going to find us scattered all over the road!”

It was a graphic image, intentionally so, and it had the desired effect as Leesha came up for air, gasping but no longer crying. Rojer dried her tears with his sleeve.

“What are we going to do?” Leesha squeaked, gripping his arms painfully tight.

Again, Rojer called upon the image of Marko Rover, and this time it came readily. “First, we’re going to get off the road,” he said, sounding confident when he was not. Sounding as if he had a plan when he did not. Leesha nodded, and let him help her stand. She winced in pain, and it cut right through him.

With Rojer supporting Leesha, they stumbled off the road and into the woods. The remaining light dropped dramatically under the forest canopy, and the ground crackled beneath their feet with twigs and dry leaves. The place smelled sickly sweet with rotting vegetation. Rojer hated the woods.

He scoured his mind for the tales of people who had survived the naked night, sifting for words with a ring of truth, searching for something, anything, that could help them.

Caves were best, the tales all agreed. Corelings preferred to hunt in the open, and a cave with even simple wards across the front was safer than attempting to hide. Rojer could recall at least three consecutive wards from his circle. Perhaps enough to ward a cave mouth.

But Rojer knew of no caves nearby, and had no idea what to look for. He cast about helplessly, and caught the sound of running water. Immediately, he pulled Leesha in that direction. Corelings tracked by sight, sound, and smell. Barring true succor, the best way to avoid them was to mask those things. Perhaps they could dig into the mud on the water’s bank.

But when he found the source of the sound, it was only a trickling stream with no bank to speak of. Rojer grabbed a smooth rock from the water and threw it, growling in frustration.

He turned back to find Leesha squatting in the ankle-deep water, weeping again as she scooped up handfuls and splashed herself. Her face. Her breasts. Between her legs.

“Leesha, we have to go …” he said, reaching out to take her arm, but she shrieked and pulled away, bending for more water.

“Leesha, we don’t have time for this!” he screamed, grabbing her and yanking her to her feet. He dragged her back into the woods, having no idea what he was looking for.

Finally he gave up, spotting a small clearing. There was nowhere to hide, so their only hope was to ward a circle. He let Leesha go and moved quickly into the clearing, brushing away a bed of rotting leaves to find the soft, moist dirt beneath.

Leesha’s blurry eyes slowly came into focus as she watched Rojer scraping leaves from the forest floor. She leaned heavily on a tree, her legs still weak.

Only minutes ago, she had thought that she would never recover from her ordeal, but the corelings about to rise were too immediate a threat, and she found, almost gratefully, that they kept her mind from replaying her assault again and again, as it had been since the men had taken their spoils and left.

Her pale cheeks were smudged with dirt and streaked with tears. She tried to smooth her torn dress, to regain some sense of dignity, but the ache between her legs was a constant reminder that her dignity was scarred forever.

“It’s almost dark!” she moaned. “What are we going to do?”

“I’ll draw a circle in the dirt,” Rojer said. “It will be all right. I’ll make everything all right,” he promised.

“Do you even know how?” she asked.

“Sure … I guess,” Rojer said unconvincingly. “I had that portable one for years. I can remember the symbols.” He picked up a stick, and started to scratch lines in the dirt, glancing up to the darkening sky again and again as he worked.

He was being brave for her. Leesha looked at Rojer, and felt a stab of guilt for getting him into this. He claimed to be twenty, but she knew that for a lie with years to spare. She should never have brought him along on such a dangerous journey.

He looked much like he had the first time she had seen him, his face puffy and bruised, blood oozing from his nose and mouth. He wiped at it with his sleeve and pretended it did not affect him. Leesha saw through the act easily, knew he was as frantic as she, but his effort was comforting, nonetheless.

“I don’t think you’re doing that right,” she said, looking over his shoulder.

“It’ll be fine,” Rojer snapped.

“I’m sure the corelings will love it,” she shot back, annoyed by his dismissive tone, “since it won’t hinder them in the least.” She looked around. “We could climb a tree,” she suggested.