The Warded Man (Demon Cycle, #1)(50)

“The Core with him,” Steave said. “Come with me.”

Elona looked at him sideways. “To live in a lean-to?” she asked. “Not likely.”

“Then you’d best head home,” Erny said. “It’s going to take you a while to learn your way around the kitchen.”

Elona scowled, and Leesha knew her father’s struggle was just beginning, but her mother left as she was told, and that said much for his chances.

Erny kissed his daughter. “I’m proud of you,” he said. “And I hope one day to make you proud of me, as well.”

“Oh, Da,” Leesha said, hugging him, “you have.”

“Then you’ll come home?” he asked hopefully.

Leesha looked back at Bruna, then back at him, and shook her head.

Erny nodded, and hugged her again. “I understand.”





CHAPTER 7

ROJER

318 AR





ROJER FOLLOWED HIS MOTHER as she swept the inn, his little broom swishing side to side in imitation of her broad strokes. She smiled down at him, ruffling his bright red hair, and he beamed back at her. He was three years old.

“Sweep behind the firebox, Rojer,” she said, and he hurried to comply, slapping the bristles into the crevice between the box and wall, sending wood dust and bits of bark flying. His mother swept the results into a neat pile.

The door swung open, and Rojer’s father came in, arms full of wood. He trailed bits of bark and dirt as he crossed the room.

“Jessum!” his mother cried. “I just swept in here!”

“I help sweep!” Rojer proclaimed loudly.

“That’s right,” his mother agreed, “and your father’s making a mess.”

“You want to run out of wood in the night with the duke and his entourage upstairs?” Jessum asked.

“His Grace won’t be here for a week at least,” his mother replied.

“Best do the work now while the inn’s quiet, Kally,” Jessum said. “No telling how many courtiers the duke will bring, running us to and fro like little Riverbridge was Angiers itself.”

“If you want to do something useful,” Kally said, “the wards outside are starting to peel.”

Jessum nodded. “I saw,” he said. “The wood warped in that last cold snap.”

“Master Piter was supposed to redraw them a week ago,” Kally said.

“Spoke to him yesterday,” Jessum said. “He’s putting every one off to work on the bridge, but he says they’ll be ready before the duke comes.”

“It’s not the duke I’m worried about,” Kally said. “Piter’s only concern may be impressing Rhinebeck in hopes of a royal commission, but I have simpler concerns, like not having my family cored in the night.”

“All right, all right,” Jessum said, holding up his hands. “I’ll go talk to him again.”

“You’d think Piter would know better,” Kally went on. “Rhinebeck ent even our duke.”

“He’s the only one close enough to get help to us if we need it quick,” Jessum said. “Euchor doesn’t care for Riverbridge, long as Messengers get through and taxes come on time.”

“See the light,” Kally said. “If Rhinebeck’s coming, it’s because he’s sniffing for taxes, too. We’ll be paying from both ends afore Rojer sees another summer.”

“What would you have us do?” Jessum asked. “Anger the duke a day away for the sake of the one two weeks to the north?”

“I didn’t say we should spit in his eye,” Kally said. “I just don’t see why impressing him comes before warding our own homes.”

“I said I’d go,” Jessum said.

“So go,” Kally said. “It’s past noon already. And take Rojer with you. Maybe that will remind you what’s really important.”

Jessum swallowed his scowl and squatted before his son. “Want to go see the bridge, Rojer?” he asked.

“Fishing?” Rojer asked. He loved to fish off the side of the bridge with his father.

Jessum laughed, sweeping Rojer into his arms. “Not today,” he said. “Your mum wants us to have a word with Piter.”

He sat Rojer up on his shoulders. “Now hold on tight,” he said, and Rojer held on to his father’s head as he ducked out the door. His cheeks were scratchy with stubble.

It wasn’t far to the bridge. Riverbridge was small even for a hamlet; just a handful of houses and shops, the barracks for the men-at-arms who collected tolls, and his parents’ inn. Rojer waved to the guards as they passed the tollhouse, and they waved back.

The bridge spanned the Dividing River at its narrowest point. Built in generations gone, it had two arches, spanning over three hundred feet, and was wide enough for a large cart with a horse to either side. A team of Milnese engineers maintained the ropes and supports daily. The Messenger Road—the only road—stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction.

Master Piter was at the far end, shouting instructions over the side of the bridge. Rojer followed his gaze, and saw his apprentices hanging from slings as they warded the underside.

“Piter!” Jessum called when they were halfway across the bridge.