The Warded Man by Peter V. Brett Read Free Book Online Page A

brightly colored feather about ten inches long, and fingered it as he spoke, not looking Arlen in the eye.
    Arlen knew the signs. When his father wouldn’t look at him, it meant he was uncomfortable with whatever he wanted to talk about.
    “What you saw on the road with the Messenger …” Jeph began.
    “Ragen explained it to me,” Arlen said. “uncle Cholie was dead already, he just didn’t know it right away. Sometimes people live through an attack, but die anyway.”
    Jeph frowned. “Not how I would have put it,” he said. “But true enough, I suppose. Cholie …”
    “Was a coward,” Arlen finished.
    Jeph looked at him in surprise. “What makes you say that?” he asked.
    “He hid in the cellar because he was scared to die, and then killed himself because he was scared to live,” Arlen said. “Better if he had just picked up an axe and died fighting.”
    “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk,” Jeph said. “You can’t fight demons, Arlen. No one can. There’s nothing to be gained by getting yourself killed.”
    Arlen shook his head. “They’re like bullies,” he said. “They attack us because we’re too scared to fight back. I hit Cobie and the others with that stick, and they didn’t bother me again.”
    “Cobie ent a rock demon,” Jeph said. “No stick is going to scare those off.”
    “There’s got to be a way,” Arlen said. “People used to do it. All the old stories say so.”
    “The stories say there were magic wards to fight with,” Jeph said. “The fighting wards are lost.”
    “Ragen says they still fight demons in some places. He says it can be done.”
    “I’m going to have a talk with that Messenger,” Jeph grumbled. “He shouldn’t be filling your head with such thoughts.”
    “Why not?” Arlen said. “Maybe more people would have survived last night, if all the men had gotten axes and spears …”
    “They would be just as dead,” Jeph finished. “There’s other ways to protect yourself and your family, Arlen. Wisdom. Prudence. Humility. It’s not brave to fight a battle you can’t win.
    “Who would care for the women and the children if all the men got themselves cored trying to kill what can’t be killed?” he went on. “Who would chop the wood and build the homes? Who would hunt and herd and plant and slaughter? Who would seed the women with children? If all the men die, the corelings win.”
    “The corelings are already winning,” Arlen muttered. “You keep saying the town gets smaller each year. Bullies keep coming when you don’t fight back.”
    He looked up at his father. “Don’t you feel it? Don’t you want to fight sometimes?”
    “Of course I do, Arlen,” Jeph said. “But not for no reason. When it matters, when it really matters, all men are willing to fight. Animals run when they can, and fight when they must,and people are no different. But that spirit should only come out when needed.
    “But if it was you out there with the corelings,” he said, “or your mam, I swear I would fight like mad before I let them get near you. Do you understand the difference?”
    Arlen nodded. “I think so.”
    “Good man,” Jeph said, squeezing his shoulder.
    Arlen’s dreams that night were filled with images of hills that touched the sky, and ponds so big you could put a whole town on the surface. He saw yellow sand stretching as far as his eyes could see, and a walled fortress hidden in the trees.
    But he saw it all between a pair of legs that swayed lazily before his eyes. He looked up, and saw his own face turning purple in the noose.
    He woke with a start, his pallet damp with sweat. It was still dark, but there was a faint lightening on the horizon, where the indigo sky held a touch of red. He lit a candle stub and pulled on his overalls, stumbling out to the common room. He found a crust to chew on as he took out the egg basket and milk jugs, putting them by the door.
    “You’re up early,” said a voice behind him. He