The Warded Man

“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.
    “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’tnotice 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