Read The Warded Man for Free Online Page B

surface stands Lakton.”
    “Is a lake like a pond?” Arlen asked.
    “A lake is to a pond what a mountain is to a hill,” Ragen said, giving Arlen a moment to digest the thought. “Out on the water, the Laktonians are safe from flame, rock, and wood demons. Their wardnet is proof against wind demons, and no people can ward against water demons better. They’re fisher-folk, and thousands in the southern cities depend on their catch for food.
    “West of Lakton is Fort Rizon, which is not technically a fort, since you could practically step over its wall, but it shields the largest farmlands you’ve ever seen. Without Rizon, the other Free Cities would starve.”
    “And Krasia?” Arlen asked.
    “I only visited Fort Krasia once,” Ragen said. “The Krasians aren’t welcoming to outsiders, and you need to cross weeks of desert to get there.”
    “Desert?”
    “Sand,” Ragen explained. “Nothing but sand for miles in every direction. No food nor water but what you carry, and nothing to shade you from the scorching sun.”
    “And people live there?” Arlen asked.
    “Oh, yes,” Ragen said. “The Krasians used to be even more numerous than the Milnese, but they’re dying off.”
    “Why?” Arlen asked.
    “Because they fight the corelings,” Ragen said. Arlen’s eyes widened.
    “You can fight corelings?” he asked.
    “You can fight anything, Arlen,” Ragen said. “The problem with fighting corelings is that more often than not, you lose. TheKrasians kill their share, but the corelings give better than they get. There are fewer Krasians every year.”
    “My da says corelings eat your soul when they get you,” Arlen said.
    “Bah!” Ragen spat over the side of the cart. “Superstitious nonsense.”
    They had turned a bend not far from the Cluster when Arlen noticed something dangling from the tree ahead of them.
    “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.
    “Night,” Ragen swore, and cracked the reins, sending the mollies into a gallop. Arlen was thrown back in his seat, and took a moment to right himself. When he did, he looked at the tree, which was coming up fast.
    “Uncle Cholie!” he cried, seeing the man kicking as he clawed at the rope around his neck.
    “Help! Help!” Arlen screamed. He leapt from the moving cart, hitting the ground hard, but he bounced to his feet, darting toward Cholie. He got up under the man, but one of Cholie’s thrashing feet kicked him in the mouth, knocking him down. He tasted blood, but strangely there was no pain. He came up again, grabbing Cholie’s legs and trying to lift him up to loosen the rope, but he was too short, and Cholie too heavy besides, and the man continued to gag and jerk.
    “Help him!” Arlen cried to Ragen. “He’s choking! Somebody help!”
    He looked up to see Ragen pull a spear from the back of the cart. The Messenger drew back and threw with hardly a moment to aim, but his aim was true, severing the rope and collapsing poor Cholie onto Arlen. They both fell into the dirt.
    Ragen was there in an instant, pulling the rope from Cholie’s throat. It didn’t seem to make much difference, the man still gagged and clawed at his throat. His eyes bulged so far it looked as if they would pop right out of his head, and his face was so red it looked purple. Arlen screamed as he gave a tremendous thrash, and then lay still.
    Ragen beat Cholie’s chest and breathed huge gulps of air into him, but it had no effect. Eventually, the Messenger gave up, slumping in the dirt and cursing.
    Arlen was no stranger to death. That specter was a frequent visitor to Tibbet’s Brook. But it was one thing to die from the corelings or from a chill. This was different.
    “Why?” he asked Ragen. “Why would he fight so hard to survive last night, only to kill himself now?”
    “Did he fight?” Ragen asked. “Did any of them really fight? Or did they run and hide?”
    “I don’t …” Arlen began.
    “Hiding isn’t always enough, Arlen,” Ragen said.