The Warded Man

seen anyone pick up warding as quick as you. Eighteen months into your apprenticeship, and you ward like a five-year journeyman.”
    “I’ve been thinking about our deal,” Arlen said.
    Cob looked up at him curiously.
    “You promised that if I worked hard,” Arlen said, “you’d teach me to survive the road.”
    They stared at one another a long while. “I’ve kept my part,” Arlen reminded.
    Cob blew out a sigh. “I suppose you have,” he said. “Have you been practicing your riding?” he asked.
    Arlen nodded. “Ragen’s groom lets me help exercise the horses.”
    “Double your efforts,” Cob said. “A Messenger’s horse is his life. Every night your steed saves you from spending outside is a night out of risk.” The old Warder got to his feet, opening acloset and pulling out a thick rolled cloth. “On Seventhdays, when we close the shop,” he said, “I’ll coach your riding, and I’ll teach you to use these.”
    He laid the cloth on the floor and unrolled it, revealing a number of well-oiled spears. Arlen eyed them hungrily.
    Cob looked up at the chimes as a young boy entered his shop. He was about thirteen, with tousled dark curls and a fuzz of mustache at his lip that looked more like dirt than hair.
    “Jaik, isn’t it?” the Warder asked. “Your family works the mill down by the East Wall, don’t they? We quoted you once for new wards, but the miller went with someone else.”
    “That’s right,” the boy said, nodding.
    “What can I help you with?” Cob asked. “Would your master like another quote?”
    Jaik shook his head. “I just came to see if Arlen wants to see the Jongleur today.”
    Cob could hardly believe his ears. He had never seen Arlen speak to anyone his own age, preferring to spend his time working and reading, or pestering the Messengers and Warders who visited the shop with endless questions. This was a surprise, and one to be encouraged.
    “Arlen!” he called.
    Arlen came out of the shop’s back room, a book in his hand. He practically walked into Jaik before he noticed the boy and pulled up short.
    “Jaik’s come to take you to see the Jongleur,” Cob advised.
    “I’d like to go,” Arlen told Jaik apologetically, “but I still have to …”
    “Nothing that can’t wait,” Cob cut him off. “Go and have fun.” He tossed Arlen a small pouch of coins and pushed the two boys out the door.
    Soon after, the boys were wandering through the crowded marketplace surrounding the main square of Miln. Arlen spent a silver star to buy meat pies from a vendor, and then, their faces coated with grease, he handed over a few copper lights for a pocketful of sweets from another.
    “I’m going to be a Jongleur one day,” Jaik said, sucking on a sweet as they made their way to the place where the children gathered.
    “Honest word?” Arlen asked.
    Jaik nodded. “Watch this,” he said, pulling three small wooden balls from his pockets and putting them into the air. Arlen laughed a moment later, when one of the balls struck Jaik’s head and the others dropped to the ground in the confusion.
    “Still got grease on my fingers,” Jaik said as they chased after the balls.
    “I guess,” Arlen agreed. “I’m going to register at the Messengers’ Guild once my apprenticeship with Cob is over.”
    “I could be your Jongleur!” Jaik shouted. “We could test for the road together!”
    Arlen looked at him. “Have you ever even seen a demon?” he asked.
    “What, you don’t think I have the stones for it?” Jaik asked, shoving him.
    “Or the brains,” Arlen said, shoving back. A moment later, they were scuffling on the ground. Arlen was still small for his age, and Jaik soon pinned him.
    “Fine, fine!” Arlen laughed. “I’ll let you be my Jongleur!”
    “Your Jongleur?” Jaik asked, not releasing him. “More like you’ll be my Messenger!”
    “Partners?” Arlen offered. Jaik smiled and offered Arlen a hand up. Soon after, they were sitting atop stone blocks in the town square, watching the apprentices of the Jongleurs’ Guild cartwheel and mum, building excitement for the morning’s lead performer.
    Arlen’s jaw dropped when he saw Keerin enter the square. Tall and thin like a redheaded lamppost, the Jongleur was unmistakable. The crowd erupted into a roar.
    “It’s Keerin!” Jaik said, shaking Arlen’s shoulder in excitement. “He’s my favorite!”
    “Really?” Arlen asked, surprised.
    “What, who do you like?” Jaik asked.