It was a full day’s ride from Fort Angiers to the bridge over the Dividing River, which separated the lands of Duke Rhinebeck from those of Duke Euchor. The Warded Man had left too late in the day to make it before sunset.
It was just as well. His farewell with Leesha had left him in a dark mood, and he welcomed the chance to show a few corelings the sun. Jardir had taught him the Krasian technique of embracing pain and it worked well enough, but there were few balms so sweet as choking the life from a demon with one’s bare hands.
The Hollow was in good hands with Leesha, at least until the Krasians advanced. She was brilliant and a natural leader, respected by all and governed by a pure heart and good common sense. If she was not yet a better Warder than he was, she soon would be.
And she’s beautiful, he thought. No denying that. The Warded Man had traveled far and wide, and never seen her equal. Perhaps he could have loved her once, before Jardir had left him for dead in the sand. Before he had been forced to tattoo his flesh to survive.
Now he was something less than human, and love had no place in his life.
Night fell, but his warded eyes saw clearly in the dark. He touched Twilight Dancer’s barding and the wards there glowed softly granting night vision to the giant stallion as well. He kicked into a gallop as the corelings rose, but there were thick trees to either side of the road, and wood demons kept pace with him, leaping from branch to branch or running just inside the tree line. Their barklike armor made them almost invisible, but the Warded Man could see the aura of their magic glowing softly, and did not mistake them. Above, wind demons shrieked, following his course and attempting to match speed for a dive.
The Warded Man let go the reins, steering the giant stallion with knees alone as he took up his great bow. A shriek from above provided ample warning, and he spun, putting a warded arrow through the head of a diving wind demon with an explosion of magic.
The flash of light seemed to bring the wood demons all at once. They exploded from the trees all around him, shrieking their hatred and leading with teeth and talons.
The Warded Man fired repeatedly, his warded arrows punching great, blackened holes in the corelings to either side. Twilight Dancer scattered those ahead, warded hooves sparking like festival crackers as they trampled through.
The demons gave chase, loping alongside the galloping horse. The Warded Man shoved his bow back in the harness and took up a spear, spinning it in a blur as he stabbed at corelings coming from every direction. One got in close, but he kicked it in the face, the impact ward on his heel throwing it back with a flash.
All along, Twilight Dancer continued to run.
Charged from the night’s killing, they remained fresh and alert when the Riverbridges came into sight at dawn, though neither man nor steed had rested all night.
It had been fifteen years since Riverbridge was destroyed. It had been a Milnese village then, but Rhinebeck had wanted a share of the bridge tolls, and had attempted to rebuild the village on the south side of the Dividing River.
The Warded Man remembered the audience where Ragen had told Duke Euchor of Rhinebeck’s plan. The duke had raged and seemed ready to burn Fort Angiers to the ground rather than let Rhinebeck toll his bridge.
And so arose two merchant towns, one on either side of the river and both calling themselves Riverbridge, with little love lost between them. There were garrisons for royal guardsmen, and mounted travelers were taxed on both sides of the river. Those who refused to pay could either hire a raft to ferry them and their goods—often for more than the tax—or swim.
The Riverbridges were the only walled villages in all of Thesa. On the Milnese side, the walls were piled stone and mortar; on the Angierian side, great tarred logs, lashed tight. Both went right to the river’s edge, and the guards who patrolled the walltops often called curses to their counterparts across the water.
The guards on the Angierian side had just opened the gate to greet the morning when the Warded Man rode through. His hands were gloved, and his hood pulled low to hide his face. It may have seemed odd to the guards, but he made no effort to explain himself, holding up Rhinebeck’s seal without slowing his steady pace. Royal Messengers were given free passage on both sides of the river. The guards grumbled at his rudeness but did not hinder him.
There was fog in the morning air, and most of the Bridgefolk were still warming their porridge as the Warded Man passed through the towns, all but unnoticed. It was easier this way. His painted skin tended to lead half of them to shun him like a coreling, and the other half to fall to their knees and call him Deliverer. He honestly didn’t know which was worse.
From Riverbridge, the road to Miln was a straight run north. The average time for a Messenger to make the ride was two weeks. His mentor Ragen’s average was better: eleven days. Astride Twilight Dancer and fearing no darkness, the Warded Man made the trip in six, a trail of demon ashes in his wake. He passed Harden’s Grove, the village a day south of Miln, at a full gallop in the dead of night, and it was still hours before dawn when Fort Miln came into sight.
As much his home as Tibbet’s Brook in some ways, the Warded Man was overwhelmed by the emotion he felt at again seeing the mountain city he had sworn so many times never to return to. Too distracted to fight, he set up a portable circle and made camp while he waited for dawn, trying to remember what he could about Duke Euchor.
The Warded Man had only met Euchor once, as a boy, but he had worked in Euchor’s Library, and knew the duke’s heart. Euchor hoarded knowledge as another man might hoard food or gold. If he gave Euchor the battle wards, the duke would not share them openly with his people. He would attempt to increase his own power by keeping them secret.
The Warded Man could not allow that. He needed to distribute the wards quickly to every Warder in the city. There was a network of Warders in Miln, a network he had helped build. If he got the wards to Cob, his former master, they could be everywhere before Euchor had time to suppress the knowledge.
Thinking of Cob opened a floodgate of memories he had long suppressed. He had not spoken to his master or anyone else in Miln for eight years. He had written letters but never found the strength to send them. Were Ragen and Elissa well? Their daughter Marya would be eight now. What of Cob, and his friend Jaik? What of Mery?
Mery. It was she who had kept him from coming back those early years. He could have faced Jaik again, or Ragen and Cob. Elissa would have railed at him for leaving without so much as a goodbye, but he knew that she would have forgiven him when she was done. It was Mery he did not want to see. Mery, the only girl he had ever allowed himself to love.
Does she still think of me? he wondered. Did she wait, thinking I might return? He had asked himself those questions a thousand times over the years, but after she had rejected him once, he had never dared seek the answers.
And now … he looked down at the tattoos covering his skin. Now he could not face any of them, could not bear for them to see the freak he had become. He would trust Cob, because he had no other choice, but better for all if the rest thought him gone forever, or even dead. He thought of the letters in his pouch. They said enough. He would see them delivered, and let all know the sender had died a good death.
A great weariness overcame him, and he lay down. As sleep took him, he saw Mery’s face in his mind’s eye. Saw the night they had broken.
But his dreams changed that past. This time, he did not let her go. He gave up his aspiration to become a Messenger, staying on to run Cob’s warding business, and instead of feeling confined, he felt freer than he did walking the naked night.
He saw Mery’s beauty in her wedding dress, saw the graceful swell as her belly grew, saw her laughing, surrounded by happy, healthy children. He saw the smiling customers whose homes he made safe, and he saw the pride in Elissa’s eyes. A mother’s pride.
His limbs twitched in the dirt, trying vainly to call his mind back from the vision, but the dream had hold of him, and there was no escape.
He saw the night they had broken again, this time as it truly was, with him riding off without another word after their argument. But as he left, his mind’s eye followed Mery instead, watching her over long years spent walking the walls of Miln, looking out for his return. All the joy and color was washed from her face, and at first the sadness only made her more beautiful. But as the seasons passed, that sad, beautiful face grew gaunt and hollow, with lines of sorrow about her mouth and dark circles beneath lifeless eyes. The best years of her life she spent waiting atop the wall, praying, weeping.
He saw the night they broke a third time, and with this last vision the dream turned into full nightmare. For in it he left, but there was no sorrow, no great pain. Mery had spit in the dirt at the city gate and turned away, finding another instantly and forgetting he had ever existed. Ragen and Elissa, so wrapped up in their infant daughter, had not even noticed he was gone. Cob’s new journeyman was more grateful, wanting nothing more than to be like a son and take over his shop. The Warded Man started awake, but the image remained, and he was ashamed of his horror, for he knew it was selfish of him.
That last vision would be best for all, he thought.
After a dozen years of beating elements, the place where One Arm had breached the wardnet of Miln was still a different color from the rest of the wall, the Warded Man noted as he broke camp in the morning, packing away Twilight Dancer’s warded barding.
The three dreams still haunted his thoughts. Which would he find inside? Should he try to find out, for his own peace, if none other?
Don’t, the voice in his head advised. You came to see Cob, so see him. You’re not here for the others. Spare them the pain. Spare yourself. The voice was with him always, urging caution. He thought of it as his father’s voice, though he had not seen Jeph Bales in close to fifteen years.
He was used to ignoring it.
Just a look, he thought. She won’t even see me. Wouldn’t recognize me even if she did. Just one look, to take back into the night.
He rode as slowly as he could bear, but even so the day gate was only just opening as he arrived. City guards came out first, escorting groups of Warders and apprentices to clearly demarcated sections of ground, where they bent and began to collect pieces of warded glass, checking quickly to ensure they had been charged by a coreling’s touch. The Warded Man himself had brought the glass wards to Miln, but even he was shocked at this efficiency of production, as good as they had in the Hollow, if less practical. The Milnese Warders seemed to make mostly objects of luxury: walking sticks, statues, windows, and jewelry. When the blood of the bait was washed from them, all would be as clear as polished diamond, and infinitely harder.
The guards looked up as he approached. In the cool damp of morning, it did not seem so strange that he should have his hood up, but seeing the weapons in Twilight Dancer’s harnesses, they raised their spears until the Warded Man showed them the pouch with Rhinebeck’s seal.
“You’re out early, Messenger,” one guard said as they relaxed.
“Raced and tried to make it without stopping at Harden’s Grove,” the Warded Man said, the lie coming easily. “Thought I had it, but then I heard the last bell from afar, and knew I’d never make the gate before sunset. Set up my circles just a mile back and spent the night.”
“Ripped luck,” the guard said. “Cold night to be stuck outside, a mile from warm walls and sweet succor.”
The Warded Man, who had not felt heat nor cold in years, nodded and forced himself to shiver, pulling his hood lower as if to ward off a lingering chill. “I could use a warm room and a hot coffee. I’d even settle for it the other way around.”
The guard nodded and seemed about to wave him on when he looked up suddenly. The Warded Man tensed, wondering if he would ask him to lower his hood.
“Things in the South as bad as they say?” the guard asked instead. “Rizon lost, Beggar refugees everywhere, and this new Deliverer doing nothing for it?”
Even this far north, rumors had flown. “That’s news for the duke, before I can share it with anyone else,” the Warded Man said, “but ay, it’s bad in the South.”
The guard grunted and waved for him to head on into the city.
The Warded Man found an inn and led Twilight Dancer to the stable. There was a boy already there, mucking the stalls. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, and he was filthy.
Servant class, the Warded Man thought, which explained why he was working so early. The boy likely slept in the stables, and counted himself lucky at that. He reached into his purse and took out a heavy gold coin, putting it in the boy’s hand.
The boy’s eyes bulged as he looked at the coin. It was likely more money than he had ever held in his hand, enough to purchase new clothes, food, and succor for a month.
“See my horse is well cared for, and there’ll be another when I claim him,” the Warded Man said. It was extravagant and might draw attention, but money meant nothing to him anymore, and he knew how easily the Servants of Miln could become Beggars. He left the boy and headed into the inn.
“I need a room for the next few nights,” he told the innkeeper, pretending as if his saddlebags and gear were a troublesome weight when they felt like feathers.
“Five moons a night,” the innkeeper said. He was young, seeming too young to run a business, and he bowed conspicuously, trying to peek under the Warded Man’s hood.
“Flame demon spat in my face,” the Warded Man said, the real irritation in his voice driving the man back. “It ent a pretty sight.”
“Of course, Messenger,” the innkeeper said, bowing again. “I apologize. Wern’t right of me to stare.”
“It’s fine,” the Warded Man grunted, carrying his gear up the steps and locking it in his room before heading out into the city.
The streets of Miln were bright and familiar, the stench of dung fires and coal from the ironworks almost welcoming. It was just as he remembered, and yet alien.
He was different.
The way to Cob’s shop was second nature even now, but the Warded Man was shocked by what he found. Large extensions had been built to either side. The small house behind the shop that he and Cob had lived in had been torn down and replaced with a warehouse many times its size. Cob had been prosperous when Arlen left, but it was nothing compared with this. Steeling himself, he went to the main entrance.
Chimes rang as the door opened, and the sound, like a part of his soul that had been missing, sent a shudder through him. The shop was larger now, but still filled with familiar sights and scents. There was the workbench he had hunched over for countless hours. The small handcart he had pulled all over the city. He walked over to a windowsill and reverently ran his gloved fingers over wards he had etched in the stone. He felt he could almost pick up a warding tool and return to work as if the last eight years had never happened.
“Can I help you?” asked a voice, and the Warded Man froze, his blood turning to ice. He had been lost in another time and hadn’t heard anyone approach, but without turning, he knew who it was. Knew, and was terrified. What was she doing here? What did it mean? Slowly, he turned to face her, keeping his face shadowed by his hood.
The years had been kind to Mother Elissa. With forty-six winters behind her, her long hair was still dark and rich, and her cheeks smooth, with only the faintest lines about her eyes and mouth. Smile lines, he’d heard them called, and it gave some relief.
Let her have spent the last eight years smiling, he thought.
Elissa opened her mouth to speak, but a young girl with long brown hair and large brown eyes came running over to them, stealing her attention. The girl wore a dress of maroon velvet, with a matching ribbon in her hair. The ribbon was askew, thick locks of hair falling in front of her face, and her cheeks and hands were white with chalk that streaked her dress as well. The Warded Man knew in an instant that she was Marya, Ragen and Elissa’s daughter, whom he had held mere moments after her birth. She was innocent and beautiful, and he ached, seeing in her all the joy of the years he had missed.
“Mother, see what I drew!” the girl cried. She held out a slate, upon which a warding circle had been drawn. The Warded Man scanned the wards in a blink and knew they were strong. More, he saw that many of them were his, brought with him from Tibbet’s Brook. He took comfort knowing that in some small way he had touched her life.
“These are beautiful, sweet one,” Elissa congratulated, bending to secure her daughter’s hair in the ribbon once more. She kissed Marya’s forehead when she was done. “Soon your father will be taking you on his Warding calls.” The girl gave a little squeal of delight.
“We have a customer to attend, sweet,” Elissa said, turning back to the Warded Man, her arm around the girl. “I am Mother Elissa.” The pride in that title was still evident in her voice after all these years. “And this is my daughter—”
“Are you a Tender?” the girl asked him, cutting her mother off.
“No,” the Warded Man said, using the deep rasp of a voice he had adopted since warding his flesh. The last thing he needed was for Elissa to recognize his voice.
“Then why do you dress like one?” the girl demanded.
“I am demon-scarred,” he told her, “and I don’t want to frighten you.”
“I’m not scared,” the girl said, trying to peek under his hood. He took a step back, pulling the hood lower.
“You’re being rude!” Elissa scolded her. “Run along and play with your brother.”
The girl took on a rebellious look, but Elissa stared her down and she darted back across the room to a worktable where a boy of perhaps five winters was stacking blocks with wards painted on their sides. The Warded Man saw Ragen in his young face, and felt a profound gladness for his mentor, mixed with a terrible regret that he would never know the boy, or the man he would become.
Elissa looked abashed. “I am sorry for that. My husband, too, has scars he does not care for the world to see. You’re a Messenger, then?”
The Warded Man nodded.
“What can I help you with, today?” she asked. “A new shield? Or perhaps repairing a portable circle?”
“Looking for a Warder named Cob,” he said. “I was told he owned this shop.”
Elissa looked sad as she shook her head. “Cob has been dead almost four years,” she said, her words hitting harder than a demon’s blow. “Taken by a cancer. He left the shop to my husband and me. Who told you to seek him here?”
“A … Messenger I knew,” the Warded Man said, reeling.
“What Messenger?” Elissa pressed. “What was his name?”
The Warded Man hesitated, his mind racing. No name came to him, and he knew the longer he waited, the greater the risk he would be discovered. “Arlen of Tibbet’s Brook,” he blurted, cursing himself as he did.
Elissa’s eyes lit up. “Tell me of Arlen,” she begged, placing a hand on his arm. “We were very close, once. Where did you last see him? Is he well? Can you get a message to him? My husband and I would pay any price.”
Seeing the sudden desperation in her eyes, the Warded Man realized how deeply he had hurt her when he left. And now, stupidly, he had given her false hope that she might somehow see Arlen again. But the boy she knew was dead, body and soul. Even if he took off his hood and told her the truth, she would not have him returned. Better to give her the closure she needed.
“Arlen spoke of you that night,” he said, his decision made. “You’re every bit as beautiful as he said.”
Elissa smiled at the compliment, her eyes moist, but then she stopped, as what he had said fully registered. “What night?”
“The night I was scarred,” he said. “Crossing the Krasian Desert. Arlen died, so that I might live.” It was true enough, after a fashion.
Elissa gasped, covering her nose and mouth with her hands. Her eyes, moist a moment before with joy, now brimmed with water as her face screwed up in pain.
“His last thoughts were of you,” he said, “of his friends in Miln, his … family. He wanted me to come here and tell you that.”
Elissa barely heard him. “Oh, Arlen!” she cried, and stumbled. The Warded Man darted forward to catch her, guiding her to one of the workbenches and easing her down as she sobbed.
“Mother!” Marya cried, rushing over. “Mother, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” She looked at the Warded Man, accusation in her eyes.
He knelt before the girl, not sure if it was simply to appear less threatening to the child, or to allow her to strike him if she wished. He almost hoped she would. “I’m afraid I brought her some ill tidings, Marya,” he said gently. “Sometimes it’s a Messenger’s duty to tell people of things they might not be happy to hear.”
As if on cue, Elissa looked up at him, her sobbing cut short. She pulled herself together with a deep breath, drying her tears with a lace cuff and embracing her daughter. “He’s right, sweetest. I’ll be all right. Take your brother into the back a spell, if you please.”
Marya shot the Warded Man one last dark glance, then nodded, gathering up her little brother and leaving the room. He watched them go, feeling wretched. He should never have come, should have sent an intermediary or found some other Warder to go to, though there were none he trusted like Cob.
“I’m sorry,” the Warded Man said. “I never wished to bring you pain.”
“I know,” Elissa said. “I’m glad you told me. It makes things easier in some ways, if you understand.”
“Easier,” the Warded Man agreed. He fumbled in his pouch, pulling forth a handful of letters, and a grimoire of battle wards, wrapped in oilcloth and tied with stout cord. “These are for you. Arlen meant for you to have them.”
Elissa took the bundle and nodded. “Thank you. Do you plan to stay in Miln long? My husband is out, but he will surely have questions for you. Arlen was like a son to him.”
“I am only in town for the day, my lady,” he said, wanting no part of a conversation with Ragen. The man would press for details where there were none. “I have a message for the duke, and a few others to pay respects to, and then I am off.”
He knew he should leave it lie there, but the damage was done, and his next words came unbidden. “Tell me … does Mery still live at the house of Tender Ronnell?”
Elissa shook her head. “Not for many years. She—”
“No matter,” the Warded Man cut her off, not wanting to hear more. Mery had found someone else. It was no great surprise, and he had no right to feel stung by the news.
“What about the boy, Jaik?” he asked. “I’ve a letter for him, as well.”
“No more a boy,” Elissa said, looking at him with piercing eyes. “He’s a man now. He lives on Mill Way, in the third workers’ cottage.”
The Warded Man nodded. “Then, with your permission, I’ll take my leave.”
“You may not like what you find there,” Elissa warned.
The Warded Man looked up at her, trying to read her meaning, but it was lost in her wet puffy eyes. She looked tired and guileless. He turned to go.
“How did you know my daughter’s name?” Elissa asked.
The question surprised him. He hesitated. “You introduced her when she came over.” The moment he said it, he cursed silently, for of course, Elissa had been cut off before she could introduce the girl, and he could have claimed the knowledge came from Arlen in any case.
“I suppose I did,” Elissa agreed, surprising him. He took it as a stroke of luck and made for the door. His fingers were closing on the latch when she spoke again.
“I’ve missed you,” she said quietly.
He paused, fighting the urge to turn and run back, crushing her in his arms and begging her forgiveness.
He left the warding shop without another word.
The Warded Man cursed himself as he strode down the street. She had recognized him. He didn’t know how, but she had, and in walking out he had likely hurt her more deeply than news of his death ever could have. Elissa had been as a mother to him, and his leaving must have seemed the ultimate rejection of her love. But what could he have done? Shown her what he had done to himself? Shown her the monster her adopted son had become?
No. Better she think he had turned his back on her. Better any lie than that truth.
Even though she deserves to know? the nagging voice in his head asked.
The question pained him, so he put it from his mind, focusing on the real reason he had come to Miln. Rhinebeck’s message. He presented himself at Duke Euchor’s keep, but the gate guards were not welcoming.
“His Grace ent got time to see every ragamuffin Tender in town,” one of them growled as they saw him approach in his hood and robes.
“He’ll see me,” the Warded Man said, holding up the Messenger pouch bearing Rhinebeck’s seal. The guards’ eyes widened, but then they turned back to him suspiciously.
“You ent any Royal Messenger I met before,” the first guard said, “and I met ’em all.”
“What kind of Messenger goes around in Tender’s robes, anyway?” the other asked.
The Warded Man, his mind still reeling from the encounter with Elissa, had no patience for the petty posturing of minor functionaries. “The kind who will crack your skull if you don’t open that gate and announce me,” he said, pulling off his hood.
The guards both took a step back as they saw his tattooed face. He gestured to the gate, and they stumbled over each other in their haste to open it. One scrambled ahead to the palace.
The Warded Man pulled his hood back up, hiding a smile. There were some benefits to being a freak, at least.
He walked toward the palace at a steady pace, drawing eyes from all in the courtyard as their whispers reached his sharp ears. Before long the duke’s chamberlain, Mother Jone, appeared to greet him, led by the gate guard. Gaunt the last time the Warded Man had seen her more than a decade ago, Jone had become almost desiccated in the years since, her skin translucent and pale, thinly stretched over blue veins and liver spots. But her back was still straight, and her stride quick. Ragen had likened the chamberlain to her own breed of coreling, and none of his encounters with her had given him cause to doubt that assessment. Several steps behind her, a pair of guards followed discreetly.
“That’s him, Mother,” one guard said.
Jone nodded and dismissed the guard with a wave. He moved back to the gatehouse, but the Warded Man could see many from the courtyard drifting in his wake, eager for gossip.
“You are the one they call the Warded Man, are you not?” Jone asked.
The Warded Man nodded. “I come with urgent tidings from Duke Rhinebeck, and an offer of my own.”
Jone raised an eyebrow at that. “There are many who believe you are the Deliverer come again. How come you to be in the service of Duke Rhinebeck?”
“I serve no man,” the Warded Man said. “I carry Rhinebeck’s message because his interests and mine intersect. The Krasian attack on Rizon affects us all.”
Jone nodded. “His Grace agrees, and so he will grant you audience …”
The Warded Man nodded and began to move toward the palace, but Jone held up a finger. “… tomorrow,” she finished.
The Warded Man scowled. It was customary for dukes to make Messengers wait for short periods of time as a show of strength, but a Royal Messenger with grave tidings delayed a full day when the sun had yet to reach its zenith? Unheard of.
“Perhaps you mistake the importance of my news,” the Warded Man said carefully.
“And perhaps you mistake your own,” Jone replied. “You have quite a reputation south of the Dividing, but you’re in the lands of Duke Euchor, Light of the Mountains and Guardian of the Northland, now. He will see you when his schedule allows, and that is tomorrow.”
Posturing. Euchor wanted to show his power by turning the Warded Man away.
He could insist, of course. Claim insult and threaten to return to Angiers, or even force his way past the guards. None of them could hinder him if he did not wish it.
But he needed Euchor’s goodwill. Ragen would find the grimoire of battle wards he had given Elissa and know what must be done with them, but only Euchor could provide the needed men and supplies to Angiers before it was too late. It was worth a day’s wait.
“Very well. I’ll be waiting at the gates at dawn tomorrow.” He turned to go.
“We have curfew in Miln,” Jone said. “No one is allowed on the streets before dawn.”
The Warded Man turned back to face her, lifting his head to give her a view into his hood. His teeth showed bright against his tattooed lips as he smiled.
“Have the gate guards arrest me then,” he suggested.
They could both posture and flex their power.
Jone’s mouth was a hard line. If the sight of his tattooed flesh unnerved her, she did not show it. “Dawn,” she agreed, and turned swiftly, striding back to the palace.
Several guards followed him as he left the duke’s keep. They were discreet and kept distance, but there was no doubt they meant to track him back to where he was staying and make note of anyone he spoke to.
But the Warded Man had lived in Miln for years and knew the city well. He turned a corner into a dead-end alley and, once out of sight, leapt ten feet straight up to catch the sill of a second-floor window. From his perch there, it was an easy leap to the third-floor sill across the way, and from there to the opposite roof. He looked down over the roof’s edge, watching the guards as they waited patiently for him to realize the dead end and emerge. Soon they would tire of waiting and one would go into the alley to investigate, but he would be long gone by then.
As he approached the third house on Mill Way, the Warded Man thought back to Elissa’s last, cryptic message about Jaik. Was he well? Had something happened to him?
Jaik and Mery had been his only friends while growing up. Jaik had dreamed of being a Jongleur, and the boys had made a pact to travel together when Arlen got his Messenger license, as Messengers and Jongleurs frequently did.
But while Arlen had pursued his goals with a single-minded tenacity, Jaik had never been willing to put in the long hard hours to master a Jongleur’s art. When the time came for Arlen to leave, Jaik could no more juggle than flap his arms and fly.
He seemed to have done well for himself, even so. Though it was no great manse like that of Ragen and Elissa, Jaik’s cottage was sturdy and well kept, spacious by crowded Miln’s standards. Jaik was likely at the mill at this time of day, which was best. He would have family at home who could receive a packet of letters, people unlikely to recognize Arlen Bales, much less the Warded Man.
Nothing could have prepared him, though, for Mery answering the door.
She gasped at the sight of him, all hooded and covered, and took a step back. Just as frightened and surprised, he did much the same.
“Yes?” Mery asked, recovering. “May I help you?” She kept her hand on the door, ready to slam it shut in an instant.
She was older than he remembered, but that did nothing to diminish her. On the contrary, the Mery he remembered was a spring bud compared with the flower before him. The thin limbs of her youth had filled out into lush curves, and her rich brown hair fell in waves over a round face and the same soft lips he had kissed a thousand times. He could feel his hands shake at the sight of her, but however unprepared he had been for her beauty, the knowledge that came with her opening this door was far more shocking.
She had married Jaik. Jaik, who taught him Tackleball and stole sweets from the baker’s back window for them to share. Jaik who had followed him around with a kind of awe when Arlen told him he was going to become a Messenger. Jaik, who had always been invisible to Mery, her eyes for Arlen alone.
“Excuse me,” he said, too off balance to even disguise his voice. “I must have the wrong …” He turned and started away, long strides taking him back down Mill Way.
He heard her gasp behind him, and moved faster.
“Arlen?” she called, and he started to run.
But even as he took off, he heard her following. “Arlen, stop! Please!” she cried, but he paid no heed, seeking only to escape, his strong legs easily outpacing her.
There was a broken cart in the road, tipped over with two men arguing amid the mess. He lost precious seconds dodging around, and Mery shortened the gap between them. He darted between a pair of cottages, hoping to cut through, but the egress he remembered was gone, the alley ending now in a stone wall too high to jump.
He closed his eyes, willing himself to dematerialize as he had in Leesha’s cottage, but the sun was upon him and the magic would not come. He doubled back, but it was too late. He ran face-first into Mery as she turned into the alley, and the both of them went sprawling to the ground. The Warded Man kept his wits as he fell, managing to hold his hood in place as he struck the cobbled street. He tensed, ready to spring back to his feet, but Mery threw herself upon him, wrapping him tightly in her arms.
“Arlen,” she wept, “I let you go once. I swore to the Creator I would never do it again.” She clutched him tighter, crying into his robes, and he held her in his arms, rocking her back and forth, sitting on the ground in the alley’s mouth. Though he had faced demons great and small, that embrace terrified him in ways he could not explain.
After a time, Mery regained herself, sniffing and wiping her nose and eyes with a sleeve. “I must look a mess,” she croaked.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, the words less a compliment than a simple truth.
She laughed self-consciously, dropping her eyes and sniffing again. “I tried to wait,” she murmured.
“It’s all right,” he said.
But Mery shook her head. “If I thought you were coming back, I would have waited forever.” She looked up at him, peering into the shadows of his hood. “I would never have …”
“Married Jaik?” he asked, perhaps less kindly than he had meant.
She looked away again, even as they both rose awkwardly to their feet. “You were gone,” she said, “and he was here. He’s been good to me all these years, Arlen, but …” She looked up at him, hesitating. “If you ask me …”
His gut wrenched. If he asked her what? Would she leave with him? Or stay in Miln but leave Jaik to be with him? The visions from his dream flashed before his mind’s eye.
“Mery, don’t,” he begged. “Don’t say it.” There was no going back for him now.
She turned away as if he had slapped her. “You didn’t come back for me, did you?” she asked, breathing deeply as if to hold back tears. “This was just a stop to see your old friend Jaik, to offer a slap on the back and a tale before taking to the road again.”
“It’s not like that, Mery,” he said, coming up behind her and taking her shoulders in his hands. The sensation was strange; familiar, yet alien. He could not remember the last time he had touched someone like that. “I hoped you had found someone while I was gone. I heard that you had, and didn’t want to spoil it.” He paused. “I just didn’t expect it to be Jaik.”
Mery turned and embraced him again, not meeting his eyes. “He’s been good to me. Father spoke to the baron who owns the mill, and they made him a supervisor. I went to the Mothers’ School to do the slates so we could afford the house.”
“Jaik’s a good man,” the Warded Man agreed.
She looked up at him. “Arlen, why are you still hiding your face?”
This time it was he who turned away. For a moment, he’d dared to forget. “I gave it to the night. It’s not something you want to see.”
“Nonsense,” Mery said, reaching for his hood. “You’re alive, after all this time. Do you think I care if you’ve been scarred?”
He drew back sharply, blocking her hand. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Arlen,” she said, putting hands to hips in the same manner she had long ago, when the time for nonsense was past, “it’s been eight years since you left Miln without a word to me. The least you can do is have the courage to show your face.”
“As I recall, it was you who did the leaving,” he said.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Mery shouted at him. “I’ve spent all these years blaming myself, not knowing if you were dead on the road or in the arms of another woman, all because I was selfish and upset one night! How long must I be punished for reacting badly when you told me you wanted to risk your life just to get away from the prison of living here with me?”
He looked at her, knowing she was right. He had never lied to her or anyone, but he had deceived nonetheless, letting her believe his dreams of becoming a Messenger had faded.
Slowly, he lifted his hands, and drew back his hood.
Mery’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth to stifle her gasp as the tattoos were revealed. There were dozens on his face alone, running along his jaw and lips, over his nose and around his eyes, even on his ears.
She recoiled instinctively. “Your face, your beautiful face. Arlen, what have you done?”
He had imagined this reaction countless times, seen it before from people all across Thesa, but despite all, he was not prepared for how it cut him. The look in her eyes passed judgment on everything he was, making him feel small and helpless in a way he had not in years.
The feeling angered him, and Arlen of Miln, who had been gaining strength for the first time in years, fled back into darkness. The Warded Man took control, and his eyes grew hard.
“I did what I had to, to survive,” he said, his voice deepening into a rasp.
“No you didn’t,” Mery said, shaking her head. “You could have survived here in Miln, safe in succor. You could have lived in any of the Free Cities, for that matter. You didn’t … mutilate yourself to survive. Truer is you did it because you hate yourself so much you think you deserve no better than to be out in the naked night. You did it because you’re terrified of opening your heart and loving anything the corelings might take from you.”
“I’m not scared of anything the corelings can do,” he said. “I walk free in the night and fear no demon, great or small. They run from me, Mery! Me!” He struck his chest for emphasis.
“Of course they do,” Mery whispered, tears running down her smooth, round cheeks. “You’ve become a monster, yourself.”
“Monster?!” the Warded Man shouted, making her flinch back in fright. “I’ve done what no man has done in centuries! What I’ve always dreamed! I’ve brought back powers lost to mankind since the First Demon War!”
Mery spat on the ground, unimpressed. The sight was unnerving; he had seen it the night before, in his third vision.
“At what cost?” she demanded. “Jaik’s given me two sons, Arlen. Will you ask them to march and die in another demon war? They could have been yours, your gift to the world, but instead all you’ve given it is a way to destroy itself.”
The Warded Man opened his mouth to let fly an angry retort, but none came. Had anyone else said such things to him, he would have lashed out, but Mery stabbed through his defenses with ease. What had he given the world? Would thousands of young men march with his weapons, only to be slaughtered in the night?
“It’s honest word you’ve done what you always dreamed, Arlen,” Mery said. “You’ve made sure no one will ever get close to you again.” She shook her head, and her face twisted. A sob broke from her soft lips, and she covered her mouth, turning and running from him.
The Warded Man stood a long time, staring at the cobbles as people walked by. They saw his tattooed face and the sight sparked animated conversation, but he hardly noticed. For the second time, Mery had left him in tears, and he wished the ground would swallow him.
He wandered the streets aimlessly, trying to come to grips with what Mery had said, but there was nothing for it. Was she right? Since the night his mother was cored, had he truly opened his heart to anyone? He knew the answer, and it lent weight to her accusations. People gave him a wide berth as he walked, his painted flesh as much a barrier to them as to corelings. Only Leesha had tried to break through, and he had pushed even her away.
After a time, he glanced up and realized he’d wandered instinctively back to Cob’s shop. The familiar place called to him, and he had no strength to resist. He felt empty inside. Void. Let Elissa rail and beat at him with her fists. She could do no worse than had already been done.
Elissa was sweeping the floor of the shop when he entered. She was alone. She looked up as the chimes rang, and their eyes met. For a long time, neither of them said a word.
“Why didn’t you tell me they were married?” he asked finally. It was petulant and lame, but he could think of nothing else to say.
“You didn’t see fit to tell me everything, either,” she returned. There was no anger in her voice, no accusation. She spoke matter-of-factly, as if discussing what she’d eaten for breakfast.
He nodded. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“Like what?” Elissa asked gently, laying aside her broom and gliding over to him. She put a hand on his arm. “Scarred? I’ve seen them before.”
He turned from her, and she let her hand fall away. “My scars are self-inflicted.”
“We all have those,” she said.
“Mery took one look at me and fled as if I were a coreling,” he said.
“I’m so sorry,” Elissa said, coming behind and wrapping her arms around him.
The Warded Man wanted to pull away, but that part of him melted away in her embrace. He turned and held her in return, inhaling the familiar scent of her and closing his eyes, opening himself up to the pain and letting it flow out of him.
After too short a time, Elissa pulled back. “I want to see what you showed her.”
He shook his head. “I …”
“Hush,” Elissa said softly, reaching into his hood to put a finger on his lips. He tensed as her hands came up, slowly, and gathered the hood, easing it down. Fear ran through him, chilling his blood, but he stood like a statue, resigned to it.
Like Mery, Elissa’s eyes widened and she gasped, but she did not recoil. She simply looked at him, taking it in.
“I never used to appreciate wards,” she said after a time. “Before, they were just another tool, like a hammer, or fire.” She reached out, touching his face. Her soft fingers traced the wards on his eyebrows, his jaw, his skull. “It’s only now, working in this shop, that I see how very beautiful they can be. Anything that protects our loved ones is beautiful.”
He choked, lurching clumsily as he started to sob, but Elissa caught him in a firm embrace, supporting him.
“Come home, Arlen,” she said. “Even if only for a night.”