The Warded Man by Peter V. Brett

stones, held together with packed mud and clay. The larger stones were painted with faded wards. Arlen thought them clumsy, but they had lasted thus far, it seemed. The roof was uneven, with short, squat wardposts poking up through the rotting thatch. One side of the house connected to the small barn, its windows boarded and its door half off the hinges. Across the yard was the big barn, looking even worse. The wards might hold, but it looked ready to collapse on its own.
    “I’ve never seen Harl’s place before,” Jeph said.
    “Me neither,” Arlen lied. Few people apart from Messengers had reason to head up the road past the Cluster by the Woods, and those who lived up that way were sources of great speculation in Town Square. Arlen had snuck off to see Crazy Man Tanner’s farm more than once. It was the farthest he had ever been from home. Getting back before dusk had meant hours of running as fast as he could.
    One time, a few months before, he almost didn’t make it. He had been trying to catch a glimpse of Harl’s eldest daughter, Ilain. The other boys said she had the biggest bubbies in the Brook, and he wanted to see for himself. He waited one day, and saw her come running out of the house, crying. She was beautiful in her sadness, and Arlen had wanted to go comfort her, even though she was eight summers older than him. He hadn’t been so bold, but he’d watched her longer than was wise, and almost paid a heavy price for it when the sun began to set.
    A mangy dog began barking as they approached the farm, and a young girl came out onto the porch, watching them with sad eyes.
    “We might have to succor here,” Jeph said.
    “It’s still hours till dark,” Arlen said, shaking his head. “If we don’t catch Ragen by then, the map says there’s another farm up by where the road forks to the Free Cities.”
    Jeph peered over Arlen’s shoulder at the map. “That’s a long way,” he said.
    “Mam can’t wait,” Arlen said. “We won’t make it all the way today, but every hour is an hour closer to her cure.”
    Jeph looked back at Silvy, bathed in sweat, then up at the sun, and nodded. They waved at the girl on the porch, but did not stop.
    They covered a great distance in the next few hours, but found no sign of the Messenger or another farm. Jeph looked up at the orange sky.
    “It will be full dark in less than two hours,” he said. “We have to turn back. If we hurry, we can make it back to Harl’s in time.”
    “The farm could be right around that next bend,” Arlen argued. “We’ll find it.”
    “We don’t know that,” Jeph said, spitting over the side of the cart. “The map ent clear. We turn back while we still can, and no arguing.”
    Arlen’s eyes widened in disbelief. “We’ll lose half a day that way, not to mention the night. Mam might die in that time!” he cried.
    Jeph looked back at his wife, sweating in her bundled blankets, breathing in short fits. Sadly, he looked around at the lengthening shadows, and suppressed a shiver. “If we’re caught out after dark,” he replied quietly, “we’ll all die.”
    Arlen was shaking his head before his father finished, refusing to accept it. “We could …” he floundered. “We could draw wards in the dirt,” he said at last. “All around the cart.”
    “And if a breeze comes along and mars them?” his father asked. “What then?”
    “The farm could be just over the next hill!” Arlen insisted.
    “Or it could be twenty more miles down the road,” his father shot back, “or burned down a year ago. Who knows what’s happened since that map was drawn?”
    “Are you saying Mam ent worth the risk?” Arlen accused.
    “Don’t you tell me what she’s worth!” his father screamed, nearly bowling the boy over. “I’ve loved her all my life! I know better than you! But I’m not going to risk all three of us! She can last the night. She has to!”
    With that, he pulled hard on the reins, stopping the cart and turning