“You don’t believe in the Creator?” Rojer asked.
“We have enough problems already,” the Warded Man answered, and his scowl made it clear that he had no desire to pursue the subject.
“There are some that call you the Deliverer,” Rojer dared.
The Warded Man snorted. “There’s no Deliverer coming to save us, Jongleur,” he said. “You want demons dead in this world, you have to kill them yourself.”
As if in response, a wind demon bounced off Twilight Dancer’s wardnet, filling the area with a brief flash of light. The stallion dug at the dirt with his hooves, as if eager to leap from the circle and do battle, but he stayed in place, waiting for a command from his master.
“How is it the horse stands so unafraid?” Leesha asked. “Even Messengers stake down their horses at night to keep them from bolting, but yours seems to want to fight.”
“I’ve been training Twilight Dancer since he was foaled,” the Warded Man said. “He’s always been warded, so he’s never learned to fear corelings. His sire was the biggest, most aggressive beast I could find, and his dam the same.”
“But he seemed so gentle when we rode him,” Leesha said.
“I’ve taught him to channel his aggressive urges,” the Warded Man said, pride evident in his normally emotionless tone. “He returns kindness, but if he’s threatened, or I am, he’ll attack without hesitation. He once crushed the skull of a wild boar that would have gored me for sure.”
Finished with the flame demons, the wood demons began to circle the wards, drawing closer and closer. The Warded Man strung his yew bow and took out his quiver of heavy-tipped arrows, but he ignored the creatures as they slashed at the barrier and were thrown back. When they finished their meal, he selected an unmarked arrow and took an etching tool from his warding kit, slowly inscribing the shaft with wards.
“If we weren’t here …” Leesha asked.
“I would be out there,” the Warded Man answered, not looking up at her. “Hunting.”
Leesha nodded, and was quiet for a time, watching him. Rojer shifted uncomfortably at her obvious fascination.
“Have you seen my home?” she asked softly.
The Warded Man looked at her curiously, but made no reply.
“If you’ve come from the south, you must’ve come through the Hollow,” Leesha said.
The Warded Man shook his head. “I give the hamlets a wide berth,” he said. “The first person to see me runs off, and before long I’m met by a cluster of angry men with pitchforks.”
Leesha wanted to protest, but she knew the people of Cutter’s Hollow would act much as he described. “They’re only afraid,” she said lamely.
“I know,” the Warded Man said. “And so I leave them in peace. There’s more to the world than hamlets and cities, and if the price of one is losing the other …” He shrugged. “Let people hide in their homes, caged like chickens. Cowards deserve no better.”
“Then why did you save us from the demons?” Rojer asked.
The Warded Man shrugged. “Because you’re human and they’re abominations,” he said. “And because you struggled to survive, right up to the last minute.”
“What else could we have done?” Rojer asked.
“You’d be amazed how many just lie down and wait for the end,” the Warded Man said.
They made good time the fourth day out from Angiers. Neither the Warded Man nor his stallion seemed to know fatigue, Twilight Dancer easily paced his master’s loping run.
When they finally made camp for the night, Leesha made a thin soup from the Warded Man’s remaining stores, but it barely filled their bellies. “What are we going to do for food?” she asked him, as the last of it vanished down Rojer’s throat.
The Warded Man shrugged. “I hadn’t planned for company,” he said as he sat back, carefully painting wards onto his fingernails.
“Two more days of riding is a long way to go without food,” Rojer lamented.
“You want to cut the trip in half,” the Warded Man said, blowing on a nail to dry it, “we could travel by night, as well. Twilight Dancer can outrun most corelings, and I can kill the rest.”
“Too dangerous,” Leesha said. “We’ll do Cutter’s Hollow no good if we all get killed. We’ll just have to travel hungry.”
“I’m not leaving the wards at night,” Rojer agreed, rubbing his stomach regretfully.
The Warded Man pointed to a coreling stalking the camp. “We could eat that,” he said.
“You can’t be serious!” Rojer cried in disgust.
“Just the thought is sickening,” Leesha agreed.
“It’s not so bad, really,” the man said.
“You’ve actually eaten demon?” Rojer asked.
“I do what I have to, to survive,” the man replied.
“Well, I’m certainly not going to eat demon meat,” Leesha said.
“Me neither,” Rojer agreed.
“Very well,” the Warded Man sighed, getting up and taking his bow, a quiver of arrows, and a long spear. He stripped off his robe, revealing his warded flesh, and moved to the edge of the circle. “I’ll see what I can hunt up.”
“You don’t need to …!” Leesha called, but the man ignored her. A moment later, he had vanished into the night.
It was more than an hour before he returned, carrying a plump pair of rabbits by the ears. He handed the catch to Leesha, and returned to his seat, picking up the tiny warding brush.
“You make music?” he asked Rojer, who had just finished re-stringing his fiddle and was plucking at the strings, adjusting the tensions.
Rojer jumped at the comment. “Y-yes,” he managed.
“Will you play something?” the Warded Man asked. “I can’t remember the last time I heard music.”
“I would,” Rojer said sadly, “but the bandits kicked my bow into the woods.”
The man nodded and sat in thought a moment. Then he stood suddenly, producing a large knife. Rojer shrank back, but the man just stepped back out of the circle. A wood demon hissed at him, but the Warded Man hissed right back, and the demon shied away.
He returned soon after with a supple length of wood, shearing the bark with his wicked blade. “How long was it?” he asked.
“E-eighteen inches,” Rojer stuttered.
The Warded Man nodded, cutting the branch to the appropriate length and walking over to Twilight Dancer. The stallion did not react as he cut a length of hair from its tail. He notched the wood and tied the horsehair flat and thick on one side. He knelt next to Rojer, bending the branch. “Tell me when the tension is right,” he said, and Rojer laid the fingers of his crippled hand on the hair. When he was satisfied, the Warded Man tied the other end and handed it to him.
Rojer beamed at the gift, treating it with resin before taking up his fiddle. He put the instrument to his chin and gave it a few strokes with the new bow. It wasn’t ideal, but he grew more confident, pausing to tune once more before beginning to play.
His skillful fingers filled the air with a haunting melody that took Leesha’s thoughts to Cutter’s Hollow, wondering at its fate. Vika’s letter was almost a week gone. What would she find when she arrived? Perhaps the flux had passed with no more loss, and this desperate ordeal had been for nothing.
Or perhaps they needed her more than ever.
The music affected the Warded Man as well, she noticed, for his hands stopped their careful work, and he stared off into the night. Shadows draped his face, obscuring the tattoos, and she saw in his sad countenance that he had been comely once. What pain had driven him to this existence, scarring himself and shunning his own kind for the company of corelings? She found herself aching to heal him, though he showed no hurt.