The Warded Man by Peter V. Brett Page B

in their room, while Harl’s youngest, Renna, set another two cracked wooden bowls at the table for Arlen and his father.
    There were only three rooms, one shared by the girls, another for Harl, and the common room where they cooked and ate and worked. A ragged curtain divided the room, partitioning off the area for cooking and eating. A warded door in the common room led to the small barn.
    “Renna, take Arlen and check the wards while the men talk and Beni and I get supper ready,” Ilain said.
    Renna nodded, taking Arlen’s hand and pulling him along. She was almost ten, close to Arlen’s age of eleven, and pretty beneath the smudges of dirt on her face. She wore a plain shift, worn and carefully mended, and her brown hair was tied back with a ragged strip of cloth, though many locks had freed themselves to fall about her round face.
    “This one’s scuffed,” the girl commented, pointing to a ward on one of the sills. “One of the cats must have stepped on it.” Taking a stick of charcoal from the kit, she carefully traced the line where it had been broken.
    “That’s no good,” Arlen said. “The lines ent smooth anymore. That weakens the ward. You should draw it over.”
    “I’m not allowed to draw a fresh one,” Renna whispered. “I’m supposed to tell Father or Ilain if there’s one I can’t fix.”
    “I can do it,” Arlen said, taking the stick. He carefully wiped clean the old ward and drew a new one, his arm moving with quick confidence. Stepping back as he finished, he looked around the window, and then swiftly replaced several others as well.
    While he worked, Harl caught sight of them and started to rise nervously, but a motion and a few confident words from Jeph brought him back to his seat.
    Arlen took a moment to admire his work. “Even a rock demon won’t get through that,” he said proudly. He turned, and found Renna staring at him. “What?” he asked.
    “You’re taller than I remember,” the girl said, looking down and smiling shyly.
    “Well, it’s been a couple of years,” Arlen replied, not knowing what else to say. When they finished their sweep, Harl called his daughter over. He and Renna spoke softly to one another, and Arlen caught her looking at him once or twice, but he couldn’t hear what was said.
    Dinner was a tough stew of parsnip and corn with a meat Arlen couldn’t identify, but it was filling enough. While they ate, they told their tale.
    “Wish you’da come to us first,” Harl said when they finished. “We been t’Old Mey Friman plenty times. Closer’n going all the way to Town Square t’see Trigg. If it took you two hours of cracking the whip t’get back to us, you’da reached Mack Pasture’s farm soon, you pressed on. Old Mey, she’s only an hour-so past that. She never did cotton to living in town. You’d really whipped that mare, you mighta made it tonight.”
    Arlen slammed down his spoon. All eyes at the table turned to him, but he didn’t even notice, so focused was he on his father.
    Jeph could not weather that glare for long. He hung his head. “There was no way to know,” he said miserably.
    Ilain touched his shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself for being cautious,” she said. She looked at Arlen, reprimand in her eyes. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” she told him.
    Arlen rose sharply and stomped away from the table. He went through the curtain and curled up by a window, watching the demons through a broken slat in the shutters. Again and again they tried and failed to pierce the wards, but Arlen didn’t feel protected by the magic. He felt imprisoned by it.
    “Take Arlen into the barn and play,” Harl ordered his younger daughters after the rest had finished eating. “Ilain will take the bowls. Let’cher elders talk.”
    Beni and Renna rose as one, bouncing out of the curtain. Arlen was in no mood to play, but the girls didn’t let him speak, yanking him to his feet and out the door into the barn.
    Beni lit a