The Warded Man

but not deeply enough before the thrust and the flare of magic threw the creature back across the pit, shrieking in pain. Arlen glanced at the spear, and saw the point had broken off. He saw it glinting in the moonlight from the demon’s eye as it shook off its pain and got its feet back under it. It clawed at its face, and the point came free. Already the bleeding had stopped.
    The coreling growled low and began to slither toward him, crawling on its belly across the pit’s floor. Arlen let it stalk, racing to complete his semicircle. The demon pounced again, and again the makeshift wards flared, stopping it cold. Arlen thrust again, this time attempting to drive the broken point of the spear down its maw to the more vulnerable flesh of its throat. The coreling was too quick, catching Arlen’s spear in its jaws and pulling it from his grasp as it was thrown back again.
    “Night,” Arlen cursed. His circle was far from complete, and without the spear, he had no hope of finishing it.
    Recovering from the blow, the sand demon was completely unprepared as Arlen leapt from behind his wards and tackled it. Above, the spectators roared.
    The coreling scratched and bit, but Arlen was quicker, maneuvering behind it to put his forearms under its armpits, locking his fingers behind its head. He drew himself up to his full height, lifting the demon from the ground.
    Arlen was larger and heavier than the sand demon, but he could not match the sinewy strength of the coreling as it thrashed. Its muscles felt like the cables used in the quarries ofMiln, and its back claws threatened to cut his legs to ribbons. He swung the creature about, slamming it into the wall of the pit. Before it could recover from the impact, he drew back and slammed it again. His grip was weakening against the powerful creature’s onslaught, so he threw his weight about one more time, hurling it into his wards. Magic brightened the pit, jolting the demon on impact, and Arlen snatched up the spear and darted back behind his wards before it could recover.
    The enraged demon launched itself at the wards repeatedly, but Arlen quickly completed a makeshift semicircle with the pit wall at his back. There were holes in the net, but he hoped they were too small for the demon to find and squeeze through.
    But hope failed a moment later, as the coreling leapt onto the pit wall, its talons digging into the clay. It moved along the side of the wall toward Arlen, bared fangs wet with drool.
    Arlen’s hasty wards were weak, with a short radius of protection, not much higher than the demon could jump. It wouldn’t take the coreling long to realize it could climb above them.
    Steeling himself, Arlen placed his foot over the ward nearest the wall, cutting off its magic. He kept his foot an inch off the floor, so as not to scuff the marking. He waited until the demon leapt, then stepped back, uncovering the ward.
    The demon was halfway across when the net reactivated, banishing coreling flesh from its line. Half the creature fell into the circle with Arlen. Half dropped with a thump outside.
    Even severed from its hindquarters, the coreling clawed and bit at Arlen as he scrambled away, keeping it back with his spear. He crossed the wards, trapping the sand demon’s torso in the semicircle, still twitching as it oozed black ichor into the dirt.
    Arlen looked up, seeing the Krasians staring at him open-mouthed. He scowled and snapped the spear over his knee. Inspired by the demon, he jabbed the broken end high into the soft clay of the pit wall. He pulled hard, his biceps bulging, and as he began to rise, he swung his other arm up, sticking the spear’s broken head farther up the wall.
    Hand over hand, Arlen climbed the twenty-foot wall of the pit. He gave no thought to what lay behind, or what waited above. He focused only on the task at hand, ignoring the burning strain of his muscles, the tearing of his flesh. As he crested the edge of the pit, the Krasians backed away,their eyes wide. Many of them invoked Everam and touched their foreheads and hearts, while others drew wards in the air to protect them as if he were a demon himself.
    His limbs like jelly, Arlen struggled to his feet. He looked at the First Warrior through blurry eyes. “If you want me dead,” he growled, “you’ll have to kill me yourself. There are no more corelings left in the Maze to do your work for you.”
    Jardir took a step forward, but hesitated at a murmur of disapproval from some of