The Warded Man

road, saying which to eat and which to avoid, which could poultice a wound, and which would make it worse. He noted the most defensible spots to spend a night and why, and warned about predators.
    “Corelings kill the slowest and weakest animals,” Ragen said. “So only the biggest and strongest, or those best at hiding, survive. Out on the road, corelings aren’t the only thing that will see you as prey.”
    Keerin looked around nervously.
    “What was that place we stayed in the last few nights?” Arlen asked.
    Ragen shrugged. “Just some minor lord’s keep,” he said. “There’re hundreds of them in the lands between here and Miln, old ruins picked clean by countless Messengers.”
    “Messengers?” Arlen asked.
    “Of course,” Ragen said. “Some Messengers spend weeks hunting for ruins. The ones lucky enough to stumble on ruins no one’s ever found can come back with all kinds of loot. Gold, jewels, carvings, sometimes even old wards. But the real prize they’re all chasing is the old wards, the fighting wards, if they ever really existed.”
    “Do you think they existed?” Arlen asked.
    Ragen nodded. “But I’m not about to risk my neck leaving the road to look for them.”
    After a couple of hours, Ragen led them off the road to a small cave. “Always best to ward a shelter when you can,” he told Arlen. “This cave is one of a few noted in Graig’s log.”
    Ragen and Keerin set up camp, feeding and watering the animals and moving their supplies into the cave. The unhitched cart was put in a circle just outside. While they worked, Arlen inspected the portable circle. “There are wards here I don’t know,” he noted, tracing the markings with a finger.
    “I saw a few in Tibbet’s Brook that were new to me, as well,” Ragen admitted. “I copied them down in my log. Perhaps tonight you can tell me what they do?” Arlen smiled, pleased that he might offer something in return for Ragen’s generosity.
    Keerin began shifting uncomfortably as they ate, looking frequently at the darkening sky, but Ragen seemed unhurried as the shadows grew.
    “Best to bring the mollies into the cave now,” Ragen noted finally. Keerin immediately moved to comply. “Pack animals hate caves,” Ragen told Arlen, “so you wait as long as you can before bringing them in. The horse always goes last.”
    “Doesn’t it have a name?” Arlen asked.
    Ragen shook his head. “My horses have to earn their names,” he said. “The guild trains them special, but plenty of horses still spook when chained outside in a portable circle at night. Only the ones I know won’t bolt or panic get names. I bought this one in Angiers, after my garron ran off and got cored. If she makes it to Miln, I’ll give her a name.”
    “She’ll make it,” Arlen said, stroking the courser’s neck. When Keerin had the mollies inside, he took her bridle and led her into the cave.
    As the others settled in, Arlen studied the cave mouth. Wards were chiseled into the stone, but not the floor of the entrance. “The wards are incomplete,” he said, pointing.
    “Course they are,” Ragen answered. “Can’t ward dirt, can we?” He looked at Arlen curiously. “What would you do to complete the circle?” he asked.
    Arlen studied the puzzle. The mouth of the cave wasn’t a perfect circle, more like an inverted U. Harder to ward, but not too hard, and the wards carved on the rock were common enough. Taking a stick, he sketched wards in the dirt, their lines connecting smoothly with those already in place. He checked them thrice, and then slid back, looking at Ragen for approval.
    The Messenger was silent a moment as he studied Arlen’s work, then nodded.
    “Well done,” Ragen said, and Arlen beamed. “You plotted the vertices masterfully. I couldn’t have woven a tighter web myself, and you did all the equations in your head, no less.”
    “Uh, thanks,” Arlen said, though he had no idea what Ragen was talking about.
    Ragen caught the boy’s pause. “You did do the equations, didn’t you?” he asked.
    “What’s an equation?” Arlen asked. “That line”—he pointed to the nearest ward—“goes to that ward there.” He pointed to the wall. “It crosses these lines”—he pointed to other wards—“which crisscross with those here.” He pointed to still others. “It’s as simple as that.”
    Ragen was aghast. “You mean you just eyeballed it?” he demanded.
    Arlen shrugged as Ragen turned back to him. “Most