The Warded Man (Demon Cycle, #1)(151)

She should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. Even more than Bruna, the Warded Man made her feel safe. He did not tire. He did not fear. And she knew without a doubt that no harm could ever come to her while she was under his protection.

Protection. It was an odd feeling, needing protection, like something out of another life. She had been protecting herself for so long, she had forgotten what it was like. Her skills and wits were enough to keep her safe in civilized places, but those things meant little in the wild.

The Warded Man shifted, and she realized she had tightened her hands around his waist, pressing close to him with her head resting on his shoulder. She pulled away, so caught up in her embarrassment that she almost didn’t see the hand, lying in the scrub at the side of the road.

When she did, she screamed.

The Warded Man pulled up, and Leesha practically fell off the horse, rushing to the spot. She brushed the weeds aside, gasping as she realized the hand wasn’t attached to anything; bitten clean off.

“Leesha, what is it?” Rojer cried, as he and the Warded Man ran to her.

“Were they camped near here?” Leesha asked, holding up the appendage. The Warded Man nodded. “Take me there,” Leesha ordered.

“Leesha, what good could …” Rojer began, but she ignored him, keeping her eyes locked on the Warded Man.

“Take. Me. There,” she said. The Warded Man nodded, putting down a stake and tying the mare’s reins to it.

“Guard,” he said to Twilight Dancer, and the stallion nickered.

They found the camp soon after, awash in blood and half-eaten bodies. Leesha lifted her apron to cover her mouth against the stench. Rojer retched and ran from the clearing.

But Leesha was no stranger to blood. “Only two,” she said, examining the remains with feelings too mixed for her to begin to sort.

The Warded Man nodded. “The mute is missing,” he said. “The giant.”

“Yes,” Leesha said. “And the circle as well.”

“The circle, as well,” the Warded Man agreed after a moment.

The heavy clouds continued to gather as they made their way back to the horses. “There’s a Messenger cave ten miles up the road,” the Warded Man said. “If we press hard and skip lunch, we should make it there before the rain comes. We’ll have to take refuge until the storm passes.”

“The man who kills corelings with his bare hands is afraid of a little rain?” Leesha asked.

“If the cloud is thick enough, corelings might rise early,” the Warded Man said.

“Since when are you afraid of corelings?” Leesha pressed.

“It’s stupid and dangerous to fight in the rain,” the Warded Man said. “Rain makes mud, and mud obscures wards and ruins footing.”

They were barely settled in the cave before the storm struck. Drenching sheets of rain turned the road to mud and the sky went dark, save for the sharp strikes of lightning. The wind howled at them, punctuated by roaring thunder.

Much of the cave mouth was warded already, symbols of power etched deeply into the rock, and the Warded Man quickly secured the rest with a cache of wardstones left within.

As the Warded Man predicted, a few demons rose early in the false dark. He watched grimly as they crept out from the darkest parts of the wood, relishing their early release from the Core. The brief flashes of light outlined their sinuous forms as they frolicked in the wet.

They tried to break into the cave, but the wards held strong. Those that ventured too close regretted it, greeted with a jab from the scowling Warded Man’s spear.

“Why are you so angry?” Leesha asked, drawing bowls and spoons from her bag as Rojer worked to light a small fire.

“Bad enough they come at night,” the Warded Man spat. “They’ve no right to the day.”

Leesha shook her head. “You’d be happier if you could accept what is,” she advised.

“I don’t want to be happy,” he replied.

“Everyone wants to be happy,” Leesha scoffed. “Where’s the cookpot?”

“In my bag,” Rojer said. “I’ll get it.”

“No need,” Leesha said, rising. “Mind the fire. I’ll fetch it.”

“No!” Rojer cried, but even as he leapt to his feet, he saw he was too late. Leesha drew forth his portable circle with a gasp.

“But …” she stammered, “they took this!” She looked at Rojer, and saw his eyes flick to the Warded Man. She turned to him, but could read nothing in the shadows of his cowl.

“Is someone going to explain?” she demanded.

“We … got it back,” Rojer said lamely.

“I know you got it back!” Leesha shouted, whipping the coil of rope and wooden plates to the cave floor. “How?”

“I took it when I took the horse,” the Warded Man said suddenly. “I didn’t want it on your conscience, so I kept it from you.”

“You stole it?”

“They stole it,” the Warded Man corrected. “I took it back.” Leesha looked at him for a long time. “You took it at night,” she said quietly. The Warded Man said nothing.

“Were they using it?” Leesha demanded through gritted teeth.

“The road is dangerous enough without such men,” the Warded Man replied.