The Warded Man

“I don’t think you’re a fool,” Arlen said.

“Which is why I keep most of your pay in trust,” Cob chuckled. “You’d give it away, same as I did.”

“What happened to the road?” Arlen pressed.

“Corelings happened,” Cob said. “They slaughtered the man and all the workers I hired him, burned the wardposts and plans … they destroyed it all. I had invested everything in that road, Arlen. Even letting my servants go wasn’t enough to pay my debts. I made barely enough money selling my manse to clear a loan to buy this shop, and I’ve been here ever since.”

They sat for a time, both of them lost in images of what that night must have been like, both of them seeing in their mind’s eye the corelings dancing amid the flames and carnage.

“Do you still think the dream was worth the risk?” Arlen asked. “All the cities sharing?”

“To this day,” Cob replied. “Even when my back aches from carting wardposts and I can’t stand my own cooking.”

“This is no different,” Arlen said, tapping the book of wards. “If all the Warders shared what they knew, how much better for everyone? Isn’t a safer city worth losing a little profit?”

Cob stared at him a long time. Then he came over and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re right, Arlen. I’m sorry. We’ll copy the books and sell them to the other Warders.”

Arlen slowly began to smile.

“What?” Cob asked suspiciously.

“Why not trade our secrets for theirs?” Arlen asked.

The chimes rang, and Elissa entered the warding shop with a wide smile. She nodded to Cob as she carried a large basket to Arlen, kissing him on the cheek. Arlen grimaced in embarrassment and wiped his cheek, but she took no notice of it.

“I brought you boys some fruit, and fresh bread and cheese,” she said, removing the items from the basket. “I expect you’ve been eating no better than you were upon my last visit.”

“Dried meat and hard bread are a Messenger’s staples, my lady,” Cob said with a smile, not looking up from the keystone he was chiseling.

“Rubbish,” Elissa scolded. “You’re retired, Cob, and Arlen isn’t a Messenger yet. Don’t try to glorify your lazy refusal to go to the market. Arlen is a growing boy, and needs better fare.” She ruffled Arlen’s hair as she spoke, smiling even as he pulled away.

“Come to dinner tonight, Arlen,” Elissa said. “Ragen is away, and the manse is lonely without him. I’ll feed you something to put meat on your bones, and you can stay in your room.”

“I … don’t think I can,” Arlen said, avoiding her eyes. “Cob needs me to finish these wardposts for the Duke’s Gardens …”

“Nonsense,” Cob said, waving his hand. “The wardposts can wait, Arlen. They’re not due for another week.” He looked up at Lady Elissa with a grin, ignoring Arlen’s discomfort. “I’ll send him over at the Evening Bell, Lady.”

Elissa flashed him a smile. “It’s settled, then,” she said. “I’ll see you tonight, Arlen.” She kissed the boy and swept out of the shop.

Cob glanced at Arlen, who was frowning into his work. “I don’t see why you choose to spend your nights sleeping on a pallet in the back of the shop when you could have a warm featherbed and a woman like Elissa to dote on you,” he said, keeping his eyes on his own work.

“She acts like she’s my mam,” Arlen complained, “but she’s not.”

“That’s true, she’s not,” Cob agreed. “But it’s clear she wants the job. Would it be so bad to let her have it?”

Arlen said nothing, and Cob, seeing the sad look in the boy’s eyes, let the matter drop.

“You’re spending too much time inside with your nose buried in books,” Cob said, snatching away the volume Arlen was reading. “When was the last time you felt the sun on your skin?”

Arlen’s eyes widened. In Tibbet’s Brook, he had never spent a moment indoors when he had a choice, but after more than a year in Miln, he could hardly remember his last day outside.

“Go find some mischief!” Cob ordered. “Won’t kill you to make a friend your own age!”

Arlen walked out of the city for the first time in a year, and the sun comforted him like an old friend. Away from the dung carts, rotting garbage, and sweaty crowds, the air held a freshness he had forgotten. He found a hilltop overlooking a field filled with playing children and pulled a book from his bag, plopping down to read.

“Hey, bookmole!” someone called.

Arlen looked up to see a group of boys approaching, holding a ball. “C’mon!” one of them cried. “We need one more to make the sides even!”

“I don’t know the game,” Arlen said. Cob had all but ordered him to play with other boys, but he thought his book far more interesting.

“What’s to know?” another boy asked. “You help your side get the ball to the goal, and try to keep the other side from doing it.”

Arlen frowned. “All right,” he said, moving to join the boy who had spoken.

“I’m Jaik,” the boy said. He was slender, with tousled dark hair and a pinched nose. His clothes were patched and dirty. He looked thirteen, like Arlen. “What’s your name?”

“Arlen.”

“You work for Warder Cob, right?” Jaik asked. “The kid Messenger Ragen found on the road?” When Arlen nodded, Jaik’s eyes widened a bit, as if he hadn’t believed it. He led the way onto the field, and pointed out the white painted stones that marked the goals.

Arlen quickly caught on to the rules of the game. After a time, he forgot his book, focusing his attention on the opposing team. He imagined he was a Messenger and they were demons trying to keep him from his circle. Hours melted away, and before he knew it the Evening Bell rang. Everyone hurriedly gathered up their things, fearful of the darkening sky.

Arlen took his time fetching his book. Jaik ran up to him. “You’d better hurry,” he said.

Arlen shrugged. “We have plenty of time,” he replied.

Jaik looked at the darkening sky, and shuddered. “You play pretty good,” he said. “Come back tomorrow. We play ball most afternoons, and on Sixthday we go to the square to see the Jongleur.” Arlen nodded noncommittally, and Jaik smiled and sped off.

Arlen headed back through the gate, the now-familiar stink of the city enveloping him. He turned up the hill to Ragen’s manse. The Messenger was away again, this time to faraway Lakton, and Arlen was spending the month with Elissa. She would pester him with questions and fuss about his clothes, but he had promised Ragen to “keep her young lovers away.”

Margrit had assured Arlen that Elissa had no lovers. In fact, when Ragen was away, she drifted the halls of their manse like a ghost, or spent hours crying in her bedchamber.

But when Arlen was around, the servant said, she changed. More than once, Margrit had begged him to live at the manse full time. He refused, but, he admitted to himself if no one else, he was beginning to like Lady Elissa fussing over him.

“Here he comes,” Gaims said that night, watching the massive rock demon rise from the ground. Woron joined him, and they watched from the guard tower as the demon snuffled the ground by the gate. With a howl, it bounded away from the gate to a hilltop. A flame demon danced there, but the rock demon knocked it violently aside, bending low to the ground, seeking something.