The Warded Man (Demon Cycle, #1)(147)

“Woodies hate flame demons,” the Warded Man explained when it was over, his eyes glinting in pleasure at the kill.

“Why?” Rojer asked.

“Because wood demons are vulnerable to demonfire,” Leesha said. The Warded Man looked up at her in surprise, then nodded.

“Then why don’t the flame demons set them on fire?” Rojer asked.

The Warded Man laughed. “Sometimes they do,” he said, “but flammable or no, there isn’t a flame demon alive that’s a match in a fight with a wood demon. Woodies are second only to rock demons in strength, and they’re nearly invisible within the borders of the forest.”

“The Creator’s Great Plan,” Leesha said. “Checks and balances.”

“Nonsense,” the Warded Man countered. “If the flame demons burned everything away, there would be nothing left for them to hunt. Nature found a way to solve the problem.”

“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.”