The Warded Man (Demon Cycle, #1)(171)

“Is that so terrible?” Leesha asked.

The Warded Man took a deep breath, moving away to another table, avoiding her eyes. “That morning when I wrestled the demon …” he said.

“I remember,” Leesha prompted, when he did not go on.

“The demon tried to escape back to the Core,” he said.

“And tried to take you with it,” Leesha said. “I saw you both go misty, and slip beneath the ground. I was terrified.”

The Warded Man nodded. “No more than me,” he said. “The path to the Core opened up to me, calling me, pulling me down.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Leesha asked.

“Because it wasn’t the demon, it was me,” the Warded Man said. “I took control of the transition; dragged the demon back up to the sun. Even now, I can feel the pull of the Core. If I let myself, I could slip down into its infernal depths with the other corelings.”

“The wards …” Leesha began.

“It’s not the wards,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m telling you it’s me. I’ve absorbed too much of their magic over the years. I’m not even human anymore. Who knows what kind of monster would spring from my seed?”

Leesha went to him, taking his face in her hands as she had that morning they made love. “You’re a good man,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. “Whatever the magic has done to you, it hasn’t changed that. Nothing else matters.”

She leaned in to kiss him, but he had hardened his heart to her, and held her back.

“It matters to me,” he said. “Until I know what I am, I can’t be with you, or anyone.”

“Then I’ll discover what you are,” Leesha said. “I swear it.”

“Leesha,” he said, “you can’t …”

“Don’t you tell me what I can’t do!” she barked. “I’ve had enough of that from others to last a lifetime.”

He held up his hands in submission. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Leesha sniffed, and closed her hands over his. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “This is a condition to diagnose and cure, like any other.”

“I’m not sick,” the Warded Man said.

She looked at him sadly. “I know that,” she said, “but it seems you don’t.”

Out in the Krasian desert, there was a stirring on the horizon. Lines of men appeared, thousand upon thousand, swathed in loose black cloth drawn about their faces to ward off the stinging sand. The vanguard was composed of two mounted groups, the smaller riding light, quick horses, and the larger upon powerful humped beasts suited to desert crossings. They were followed by columns of footmen, and they, in turn, by a seemingly endless train of carts and supplies. Each warrior carried a spear etched with an intricate pattern of wards.

At their head rode a man dressed all in white, atop a sleek charger of the same color. He raised a hand, and the horde behind him halted and stood in silence to gaze upon the ruins of Anoch Sun.

Unlike the wood and iron spears of his warriors, this man carried an ancient weapon made of a bright, unknown metal. He was Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir, but his people had not used that name in years.

They called him Shar’Dama Ka, the Deliverer.





End Book I





If you enjoyed The Warded Man,

be sure not to miss the riveting sequel:





THE DESERT SPEAR

by

Peter V Brett





Just as humanity has begun to claw its way back from the brink of extinction, a new breed of demon has risen from the Core, more powerful than any seen before. Its purpose: to crush the human resistance before it can truly take hold. Now old allegiances must be tested and new alliances formed if any are to survive the night …





Here’s a special preview.





333 AR WINTER





IT WAS THE NIGHT before new moon, during the darkest hours when even that bare sliver had set. In a small patch of true darkness beneath the thick boughs of a cluster of trees, an evil essence seeped up from the Core.

The dark mist coalesced slowly into a pair of giant demons, their rough brown skin knobbed and gnarled like tree bark. Standing nine feet at the shoulder, their hooked claws dug at the frozen scrub and pine of the forest floor as they sniffed at the air. A low rumble sounded in their throats as black eyes scanned their surroundings.

Satisfied, they moved apart and squatted on their haunches, coiled and ready to spring. Behind them, the patch of true darkness deepened, corruption blackening the forest bed as another pair of ethereal shapes materialized.

These were slender, barely five feet tall, with soft charcoal flesh quite unlike the gnarled armor of their larger brethren. On the ends of delicate fingers and toes, their claws seemed fragile—thin and straight like a woman’s manicured nail. Their sharp teeth were short, only a single row set in a snoutless mouth.

Their heads were bloated, with huge, lidless eyes and high, conical craniums. The flesh over their skulls was knobbed and textured, pulsing around the vestigial nubs of horns.

For long moments, the two newcomers stared at each other, foreheads throbbing, as a vibration passed in the air between them.