The Warded Man

slammed into the wards barely an inch from his back.
    While Leesha prepared supper, Rojer limped bowlegged around the circle, attempting to walk off the stiffness of a day’s hard riding.
    “I think my stones are crushed from all that bouncing,” he groaned.
    “I’ll have a look, if you like,” Leesha said. The Warded Man snorted.
    Rojer looked at her ruefully. “I’ll be all right,” he managed, continuing to pace. He stopped suddenly a moment later, staring down the road.
    They all looked up, seeing the eerie orange light of the flame demon’s mouth and eyes long before the coreling itself came into sight, shrieking and running hard on all fours.
    “How is it that the flame demons don’t burn the entire forest down?” Rojer wondered, watching the trailing wisps of fire behind the creature.
    “You’re about to find out,” the Warded Man said. Rojer found the amusement in his voice even more unsettling than his usual monotone.
    The words were barely spoken before howls heralded the approach of a pack of wood demons, three strong, barreling down the road after the flame demon. One of them had another flame demon hanging limply from its jaws, dripping black ichor.
    So occupied was the flame demon with outrunning its pursuers, it failed to notice the other wood demons gathering in the scrub at the edges of the road until one pounced, pinning the hapless creature and eviscerating it with its back talons. It shrieked horribly, and Leesha covered her ears from the sound.
    “Woodies hate flame demons,” the Warded Man explained when it was over, his eyes glinting in pleasure at the kill.
    “Why?” Rojer asked.
    “Because wood demons are vulnerable to demonfire,” Leesha said. The Warded Man looked up at her in surprise, then nodded.
    “Then why don’t the flame demons set them on fire?” Rojer asked.
    The Warded Man laughed. “Sometimes they do,” he said, “but flammable or no, there isn’t a flame demon alive that’s a match in a fight with a wood demon. Woodies are second only to rock demons in strength, and they’re nearly invisible within the borders of the forest.”
    “The Creator’s Great Plan,” Leesha said. “Checks and balances.”
    “Nonsense,” the Warded Man countered. “If the flamedemons burned everything away, there would be nothing left for them to hunt. Nature found a way to solve the problem.”
    “You don’t believe in the Creator?” Rojer asked.
    “We have enough problems already,” the Warded Man answered, and his scowl made it clear that he had no desire to pursue the subject.
    “There are some that call you the Deliverer,” Rojer dared.
    The Warded Man snorted. “There’s no Deliverer coming to save us, Jongleur,” he said. “You want demons dead in this world, you have to kill them yourself.”
    As if in response, a wind demon bounced off Twilight Dancer’s wardnet, filling the area with a brief flash of light. The stallion dug at the dirt with his hooves, as if eager to leap from the circle and do battle, but he stayed in place, waiting for a command from his master.
    “How is it the horse stands so unafraid?” Leesha asked. “Even Messengers stake down their horses at night to keep them from bolting, but yours seems to want to fight.”
    “I’ve been training Twilight Dancer since he was foaled,” the Warded Man said. “He’s always been warded, so he’s never learned to fear corelings. His sire was the biggest, most aggressive beast I could find, and his dam the same.”
    “But he seemed so gentle when we rode him,” Leesha said.
    “I’ve taught him to channel his aggressive urges,” the Warded Man said, pride evident in his normally emotionless tone. “He returns kindness, but if he’s threatened, or I am, he’ll attack without hesitation. He once crushed the skull of a wild boar that would have gored me for sure.”
    Finished with the flame demons, the wood demons began to circle the wards, drawing closer and closer. The Warded Man strung his yew bow and took out his quiver of heavy-tipped arrows, but he ignored the creatures as they slashed at the barrier and were thrown back. When they finished their meal, he selected an unmarked arrow and took an etching tool from his warding kit, slowly inscribing the shaft with wards.
    “If we weren’t here …” Leesha asked.
    “I would be out there,” the Warded Man answered, not looking up at her. “Hunting.”
    Leesha nodded, and was quiet for a time, watching him. Rojer shifted