The Warded Man

Mey Friman, if she existed at all, was over two days away. If he truly had demon fever, though, it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t last two days.
    Still, Arlen could not bring himself to give in. He stumbled on down the road, following the wagon ruts toward wherever they came from.
    If he was to die, let it be closer to the Free Cities than the prison behind.

CHAPTER 4
LEESHA
319 AR

    LEESHA SPENT THE NIGHT IN TEARS .
    That, in and of itself, was nothing out of the ordinary, but it wasn’t her mother that had her weeping this night. It was the screams. Someone’s wards had failed; it was impossible to tell whose, but cries of terror and agony echoed in the dark, and smoke billowed into the sky. The whole village glowed with a hazy orange light as smoke refracted coreling fire.
    The people of Cutter’s Hollow couldn’t search for survivors. They dared not even fight the fire. They could do nothing save pray to the Creator that embers did not carry on the wind and spread the flames. Houses in Cutter’s Hollow were built well apart for just this reason, but a strong breeze could carry a spark a long way.
    Even if the fire remained contained, the ash and smoke in the air could easily obscure more wards with their greasy stain, giving corelings the access they desperately sought.
    No corelings tested the wards around Leesha’s house. It was a bad sign, hinting that the demons had found easier prey in the dark.
    Helpless and afraid, Leesha did the only thing she could. She cried. Cried for the dead, cried for the wounded, and cried for herself. In a village with fewer than four hundred people, there was no one whose death would not cut her.
    Just shy of thirteen summers, Leesha was an exceptionally pretty girl, with long, wavy black hair and sharp eyes of pale blue. She was not yet flowered, and thus could not wed, but she was promised to Gared Cutter, the handsomest boy in the village. Gared was two summers older than her, tall and thickmuscled.The other girls squealed as he passed, but he was Leesha’s, and they all knew. He would give her strong babies. If he lived through the night.
    The door to her room opened. Her mother never bothered to knock.
    In face and form, Elona was much like her daughter. Still beautiful at thirty, she had long hair that hung rich and black about her proud shoulders. She also had a full, womanly figure that was the envy of all, the only thing Leesha hoped to inherit from her. Her own breasts had only just started to bud, and had a long way to go before they matched her mother’s.
    “That’s enough of your blubbering, you worthless girl,” Elona snapped, throwing Leesha a rag to dry her eyes. “Crying alone gets you nothing. Cry in front of a man, if you want your way, but wetting your pillow won’t bring the dead to life.” She pulled the door closed, leaving Leesha alone again in the evil orange light flickering through the slats of the shutters.
    Do you feel anything at all? Leesha wondered at her.
    Her mother was right that tears would not bring back the dead, but she was wrong that it was good for nothing. Crying had always been Leesha’s escape when things were hard. Other girls might think Leesha’s life was perfect, but only because none of them saw the face Elona showed her only child when they were alone. It was no secret Elona had wanted sons, and Leesha and her father both endured her scorn for failing to oblige.
    But she angrily dried her eyes all the same. She couldn’t wait until she flowered and Gared took her away. The villagers would build them a house for their wedding boon, and Gared would carry her across the wards and make a woman of her while they all cheered outside. She would have her own children, and treat them nothing like her mother treated her.
    Leesha was dressed when her mother banged on her door. She had not slept at all.
    “I want you out the door when the dawn bell rings,” Elona said. “And I’ll not hear a murmur about you being tired! I won’t have our family seen lagging to help.”
    Leesha knew her mother well enough to know that “seen” was the operative word. Elona didn’t care about helping anyone but herself.
    Leesha’s father, Erny, was waiting by the door under Elona’s stern gaze. He was not a large man, and to call him wiry would have implied a strength that wasn’t there. He was no stronger of will than of body, a timid man whose voice never rose. Erny was Elona’s elder by a dozen years; his thin brown hair had