The Warded Man

sugar wrapped in a twist of corn husk. Rojer squealed and plopped down on the grass to unwrap it.
    “What brings you to Riverbridge this time?” Jessum asked the Messenger.
    The Jongleur stepped forward, sweeping his cloak back in a flourish. He was tall, with long hair sun-bleached to gold and a brown beard. His jaw was perfectly squared, and his skin sun-bronzed. Over his motley he wore a fine tabard emblazoned with a cluster of green leaves on a field of brown.
    “Arrick Sweetsong,” he introduced himself, “Master Jongleur and herald to His Grace, Duke Rhinebeck the Third, guardian of the forest fortress, wearer of the wooden crown, and Lord of all Angiers. I come to inspect the town before His Grace’s arrival next week.”
    “The duke’s herald is a Jongleur?” Piter asked Geral, raising an eyebrow.
    “None better for the hamlets,” Geral replied with a wink.“Folks are less likely to string a man up for telling them taxes are raised when he’s juggling for their kids.”
    Arrick scowled at him, but Geral only laughed.
    “Be a good man and fetch the innkeep to come for our horses,” Arrick told Jessum.
    “I’m the innkeep,” Rojer’s father said, holding out his hand. “Jessum Inn. That’s my boy, Rojer.” He nodded at Rojer.
    Arrick ignored the hand and the boy, producing a silver moon as if from thin air and flicking it his way. Jessum caught the coin, looking at it curiously.
    “The horses,” Arrick said pointedly. Jessum frowned, but he pocketed the coin and moved for the animals. Geral took his own reins and waved him away.
    “I still need my wards looked at, Piter,” Jessum said. “You’ll be sorry if I have to send Kally to shriek at you about it.”
    “It looks like the bridge still needs a lot of work before His Grace arrives,” Arrick noted. Piter stood a bit straighter at that and gave Jessum a sour look.
    “Do you wish to sleep behind peeling wards tonight, Master Jongleur?” Jessum asked. Arrick’s bronzed skin paled at that.
    “I’ll take a look at them, if you want,” Geral said. “I can patch them if they’re not too bad, and I’ll fetch Piter myself if they are.” He stomped his spear and gave the Warder a hard stare. Piter’s eyes widened, and he nodded his understanding.
    Geral picked Rojer up and sat him atop his huge destrier. “Hold tight, boy,” he said, “we’re going for a ride!” Rojer laughed and pulled the destrier’s mane as Geral and his father led the horses to the inn. Arrick strode ahead of them like a man followed by servants.
    Kally was waiting at the door. “Geral!” she called. “What a pleasant surprise!”
    “And who is this?” Arrick asked, his hands flicking quickly to smooth his hair and clothes.
    “This is Kally,” Jessum said, adding “my wife” when the twinkle in Arrick’s eye did not diminish.
    Arrick seemed not to hear, striding up to her and throwing his multicolored cloak back as he made a leg.
    “A pleasure, madam,” he said, kissing her hand. “I am Arrick Sweetsong, Master Jongleur and herald to Duke Rhinebeck the Third, guardian of the forest fortress, wearer of the woodencrown, and Lord of all Angiers. His Grace will be pleased to see such beauty when he visits your fine inn.”
    Kally covered her mouth, her pale cheeks coloring to match her red hair. She made a clumsy curtsy in return.
    “You and Geral must be tired,” she said. “Come in and I’ll serve some hot soup while I prepare supper.”
    “We would be delighted, good lady,” Arrick said, bowing again.
    “Geral promised to look over the wards for us before dark, Kal,” Jessum said.
    “What?” Kally asked, pulling her eyes from Arrick’s handsome smile. “Oh, well you two stake the horses and see to that while I show Master Arrick a room and start supper,” she said.
    “A lovely idea,” Arrick said, offering her an arm as they went inside.
    “Keep an eye on Arrick with your wife,” Geral muttered. “They call him ‘Sweetsong’ because his voice will make any woman sweet between the legs, and I’ve never known him to stop at a wedding vow.”
    Jessum scowled. “Rojer,” he said, pulling him off the horse, “run in and stay with Mum.”
    Rojer nodded, hitting the ground running.
    “The last Jongleur ate fire,” Rojer said. “Can you eat fire?”
    “That I can,” Arrick said, “and spit it back out like a flame demon.” Rojer clapped his hands and Arrick turned back to gaze at Kally, who was bending behind the bar