The Warded Man

no going back now.”
    He picked up his robe, heading for the small cold stream nearby to wash his wounds.
    “Corespawn you!” Leesha cried at his back. “You and your mad obsession!”

CHAPTER 30
PLAGUE
332 AR

    ROJER WAS STILL ASLEEP when they returned. They changed their muddy clothes silently, backs to one another, and then Leesha shook Rojer awake while the Warded Man saddled the horses. They ate a cold breakfast in silence, and were on the road before the sun had risen far. Rojer rode behind Leesha on her mare, the Warded Man alone on his great stallion. The sky was heavy with cloud, promising more rain to come.
    “Shouldn’t we have passed a Messenger headed north by now?” Rojer asked.
    “You’re right,” Leesha said. She looked up and down the road, worried.
    The Warded Man shrugged. “We’ll reach Cutter’s Hollow by high sun,” he said. “I’ll see you there, and be on my way.”
    Leesha nodded. “I think that’s best,” she agreed.
    “Just like that?” Rojer asked.
    The Warded Man inclined his head. “You were expecting more, Jongleur?”
    “After all we’ve been through? Night, yes!” Rojer cried.
    “Sorry to disappoint,” the Warded Man replied, “but I’ve business to attend.”
    “Creator forbid you go a night without killing something,” Leesha muttered.
    “But what about what we discussed?” Rojer pressed. “Me traveling with you?”
    “Rojer!” Leesha cried.
    “I’ve decided it’s a bad idea,” the Warded Man told him. He glanced at Leesha. “If your music can’t kill demons, it’s no use to me. I’m better off on my own.”
    “I couldn’t agree more,” Leesha put in. Rojer scowled at her, and her cheeks burned. He deserved better, she knew, but she could offer no comfort or explanation when it was taking all her strength to hold back tears.
    She had known the Warded Man for what he was. As much as she’d hoped otherwise, she had known his heart might not stay open for long, that all they might have was a moment. But oh, she had wanted that moment! She had wanted to feel safe in his arms, and to feel him inside her. She stroked her belly absently. If he had seeded her and she had found herself with child, she would have cherished it, never questioning whom the father might be. But now … there were pomm leaves enough in her stores for what must be done.
    They rode on in silence, the coldness between them palpable. Before long, they turned a bend and caught their first glimpse of Cutter’s Hollow.
    Even from a distance, they could see the village was a smoking ruin.
    Rojer held on tightly as they bounced along the road. Leesha had kicked into a gallop upon seeing the smoke, and the Warded Man followed suit. Even in the damp, fires still burned hungrily in Cutter’s Hollow, casting billows of greasy black smoke into the air. The town was devastated, and again Rojer found himself reliving the destruction of Riverbridge. Gasping for breath, he squeezed his secret pocket before remembering that his talisman was broken and lost. The horse jerked, and he snapped his hand back to Leesha’s waist to keep from being thrown.
    Survivors could be seen wandering about like ants in the distance. “Why aren’t they fighting the fires?” Leesha asked, but Rojer merely held on, having no answer.
    They pulled up as they reached the town, taking in the devastation numbly. “Some of these have been burning for days,” the Warded Man noted, nodding toward the remains of once-cozy homes. Indeed, many of the buildings were charred ruins, barely smoking, and others still were cold ash. Smitt’s tavern, the only building in town with two floors, had collapsed in on itself, some of the beams still ablaze, and other buildings were missing roofs or entire walls.
    Leesha took in the smudged and tear-streaked faces as she rode deeper into town, recognizing every one. All were toooccupied with their own grief to take notice of the small group as they passed. She bit her lip to keep from crying.
    In the center of town, the townspeople had collected the dead. Leesha’s heart clenched at the sight: at least a hundred bodies, without even blankets to cover them. Poor Niklas. Saira and her mother. Tender Michel. Steave. Children she had never met, and elders she had known all her life. Some were burned, and others cored, but most had not a mark on them. Fluxed.
    Mairy knelt by the pile, weeping over a small bundle. Leesha felt her throat close up, but somehow managed to