"Stop and face Everam's justice!" he screamed.

But all three of them knew that "Everam's justice" meant only a quick death, and wisely ran on, turning a corner and breaking the cleric's line of sight momentarily.

Abban was slowing them, huffing as he hobbled on his spear. He stumbled suddenly, falling to his knees and dropping his spear. He looked at Arlen with frantic eyes.

"Do not leave me!" he begged.

"Don't be an idiot," Arlen snapped, grabbing his arm and hauling the fat merchant upright.

"Get Abban to the cart," Arlen told Jamere. "I will delay the dama." dama."

"No, I'll do it," Jamere said. "I can..."

"Mind your elders, boy," Arlen said, shocked to hear one of his father's phrases pa.s.s his own lips. He grabbed the boy's arm and propelled him towards Abban. The boy looked at him as if he were mad, but Arlen glared at him and he nodded and tucked himself under Abban's arm.

Arlen slipped into a shadow, his black robes making him invisible in the night, and slung the satchel over his shoulders. If anyone was caught with the evidence, let it be him.

Right fix you've gotten yourself into now, the voice in his head observed.

The dama dama came around the corner at a run, but still he was ready for Arlen's ambush, ducking smoothly beneath a circle kick that would have blown across his solar-plexus. The came around the corner at a run, but still he was ready for Arlen's ambush, ducking smoothly beneath a circle kick that would have blown across his solar-plexus. The dama dama rolled by, then straightened suddenly, his stiffened fingers striking Arlen in the wrist. rolled by, then straightened suddenly, his stiffened fingers striking Arlen in the wrist.

Arlen's hand went numb, and his spear fell away from his nerveless fingers as the dama dama dropped low and spun to sweep his legs. Arlen threw himself backwards, tumbling until he could spring back to his feet. The dropped low and spun to sweep his legs. Arlen threw himself backwards, tumbling until he could spring back to his feet. The dama dama came at him hard, a white-robed specter of death. came at him hard, a white-robed specter of death.

They met on even footing and traded furious blows. For the first few moments, Arlen thought he might have a chance, but it quickly became clear the dama dama was only taking his measure. He twisted sharply away from one of Arlen's kicks, pivoting back to punch Arlen hard in the throat. was only taking his measure. He twisted sharply away from one of Arlen's kicks, pivoting back to punch Arlen hard in the throat.

It was not like having the wind knocked out of him, which Arlen had experienced many times. This was like having the wind trapped within him, its means of egress and replenishment cut off. He choked, staggering, and the dama dama turned almost lazily into the kick to his stomach that forced the breath back out of his damaged windpipe with a blast of agony and sent him flying onto his back in the street. turned almost lazily into the kick to his stomach that forced the breath back out of his damaged windpipe with a blast of agony and sent him flying onto his back in the street.

Arlen could hear other dama dama approaching from Sharik Hora, and see the flicker of their lamps. He struggled to rise as the approaching from Sharik Hora, and see the flicker of their lamps. He struggled to rise as the d.a.m.n d.a.m.n coldly advanced upon him. coldly advanced upon him.

"Who were your accomplices, servant of Nie?" the dama dama asked. "Tell me the names of the lame one and the boy and I will grant you a quick death." asked. "Tell me the names of the lame one and the boy and I will grant you a quick death."

Arlen tensed to attack again, and the dama dama laughed. "Your laughed. "Your sharusahk sharusahk is pitiful, fool. You only prolong your pain." is pitiful, fool. You only prolong your pain."

Arlen knew the man was right, he was the superior fighter. But combat was more than perfection of art. Combat was doing whatever was required to win.

He grabbed a fistful of sand from the street and flung it into the dama' dama's eyes, kicking hard at his knee even as the cleric cried out and clutched his face. There was a satisfying crack, and the dama dama dropped screaming to the ground. dropped screaming to the ground.

Arlen staggered to his feet, running after Abban and the boy. The were on the cart now, and Arlen leapt aboard just as Abban whipped the camel and the beast galloped away.

Behind them, half a dozen clerics gave chase, all carrying lanterns and moving with the same impossible grace and speed.

Abban whipped the poor camel raw, and slowly they began to pull away, as the beast reached speeds no man could match. Arlen dared to think they might escape when they hit a pit in the road and one of the cart's two wheels shattered. All three were thrown to the ground, and the camel stopped, the heavy beast laboring for breath.

"To the abyss with you both," Jamere said. "I'm not dying for a chin chin and a and a khaffit khaffit." He leapt to his feet and ran towards the dama. dama.

"Mercy, masters!" the boy cried, falling to his knees before them. "I was but a hostage!"

Arlen didn't stop to stare. "Get on!" he shouted, shoving Abban at the camel as he produced a wicked knife to slice the leather harnesses that held the beast to the broken cart. The moment it was free, he stuck one foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn, and slapped the camel hard on the rump with the flat of his blade. The beast gave a great bray and broke into a run, leaving the cries of the dama dama behind. behind.

"TAKE THE BOOKS and go at first light, Par'chin," Abban said. "Leave the city, and I will bribe the gate guards to swear you've been gone for a week." and go at first light, Par'chin," Abban said. "Leave the city, and I will bribe the gate guards to swear you've been gone for a week."

"What about you?" Arlen asked.

"I will be better off with you and the evidence long gone," Abban said. "Jamere will tell them he could not see our ident.i.ties with the night veils in place, and without proof, a few well-placed bribes will divert any inquiry."

Arlen nodded, and bowed. "Thank you, my friend," he said. "I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble."

Abban clapped his shoulder. "I am sorry, too, Par'chin. I should have better warned you about the dangers of Baha kad'Everam. Let us call the account settled." The shook hands, and Arlen headed out into the night.

At dawn, he returned to his hostel, pretending to be returning from alagai'sharak. alagai'sharak. No one questioned this, and he was able to retrieve his possessions and escape Fort Krasia before most of its inhabitants left the undercity. The No one questioned this, and he was able to retrieve his possessions and escape Fort Krasia before most of its inhabitants left the undercity. The dal'Sharum dal'Sharum at the gates even lifted their spears to him as he left. at the gates even lifted their spears to him as he left.

As he rode, he clutched the precious map tube. He would go to Fort Rizon and resupply, and then, he would find Anoch Sun.

THERE WAS A hissing in the bazaar, as the merchants warned of approaching hissing in the bazaar, as the merchants warned of approaching d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n.

Abban hurriedly drew back into his tent, peeking through the narrow gap in the flaps as a group of black-clad dal'Sharum dal'Sharum warriors appeared, shoving people aside as they escorted a group of furious looking warriors appeared, shoving people aside as they escorted a group of furious looking d.a.m.n d.a.m.n and a young, skinny acolyte. Abban's fingers tightened on the canvas as they marched up the street, stopping in front of his pavilion. and a young, skinny acolyte. Abban's fingers tightened on the canvas as they marched up the street, stopping in front of his pavilion.

Amit came limping up to them, the crippled dal'Sharum dal'Sharum bowing his head slightly. "Have you come for the bowing his head slightly. "Have you come for the khaffit, khaffit, finally?" he asked one of the warriors. "Whatever you think he has done, I a.s.sure you it is the least of his crimes..." finally?" he asked one of the warriors. "Whatever you think he has done, I a.s.sure you it is the least of his crimes..."

He was cut off, as the dal'Sharum dal'Sharum struck him across the face with the b.u.t.t of his spear. Blood and teeth exploded from the merchant's mouth as he fell to the dust. He tried to rise, but the warrior that had struck him leapt around behind him, putting his spear under Amit's chin and his knee into his back, pulling hard to choke Amit's head upwards to look at the struck him across the face with the b.u.t.t of his spear. Blood and teeth exploded from the merchant's mouth as he fell to the dust. He tried to rise, but the warrior that had struck him leapt around behind him, putting his spear under Amit's chin and his knee into his back, pulling hard to choke Amit's head upwards to look at the dama dama and boy. and boy.

"Is this the one?" the lead dama dama asked the boy. asked the boy.

"Yes," Jamere said. "He said he would kill my mother, if I did not obey."

"What?!" Amit gasped. "I've never seen you before in my...!" Again the warrior pulled back on the spear, and his words were cut off with a gurgle.

"Do you recognize this?" the dama dama asked, holding up the spear Abban had dropped in the street, tied with the bright orange cloth he had used to signal Jamere. "Do you think us stupid? It's no secret you wear a womanly orange kerchief on your vestigial weapon, cripple." asked, holding up the spear Abban had dropped in the street, tied with the bright orange cloth he had used to signal Jamere. "Do you think us stupid? It's no secret you wear a womanly orange kerchief on your vestigial weapon, cripple."

"Dama, see here," a warrior cried, leading a camel from Amit's pen. "It's been whipped recently, and wears leather pads on its feet." see here," a warrior cried, leading a camel from Amit's pen. "It's been whipped recently, and wears leather pads on its feet."

Amit's eyes bulged, though it was hard to tell if it was from incredulity or the continually choking spear at his throat. "That's not my...!" was all he managed to cough.

"Tell us who your accomplice was," the dama dama demanded. The warrior at Amit's back eased the choking spear so he could answer. demanded. The warrior at Amit's back eased the choking spear so he could answer.

Gone was all the smug superiority from Amit's voice, the security in his position in this world and the next. Abban listened carefully, savoring the pathetic desperation in his rival's voice as he protested his innocence and begged for his life.

"Tear the black from him," the dama dama ordered, and Amit screamed as the warriors took hold of his robes, ripping at them until the crippled man was lying naked in the street. The ordered, and Amit screamed as the warriors took hold of his robes, ripping at them until the crippled man was lying naked in the street. The dal'Sharum dal'Sharum took his arms and pulled back on his hair to ensure he made eye contact with the took his arms and pulled back on his hair to ensure he made eye contact with the dama dama, who knelt before him.

"You are khaffit khaffit now, Amit of no lineage worth mentioning," the now, Amit of no lineage worth mentioning," the dama dama said. "For the short, painful remainder of your life, know this, for when your spirit leaves this world, it will forever sit outside the gates of Heaven." said. "For the short, painful remainder of your life, know this, for when your spirit leaves this world, it will forever sit outside the gates of Heaven."

"Nooo!" Amit screamed. "It is a lie!"

The dama dama looked up at the warriors. "Confiscate everything of value in his pavilion," he said, "and bring it to the temple. Use his women, if you like, and then have them sold. Put any sons to the spear." Amit howled, thrashing against the men who held his arms until one of the warriors clubbed him in the back of the head with his spear, dropping him senseless to the ground. looked up at the warriors. "Confiscate everything of value in his pavilion," he said, "and bring it to the temple. Use his women, if you like, and then have them sold. Put any sons to the spear." Amit howled, thrashing against the men who held his arms until one of the warriors clubbed him in the back of the head with his spear, dropping him senseless to the ground.

The dama dama looked down at Amit in disgust. "Haul this filth to the Chamber of Eternal Sorrow," he told the looked down at Amit in disgust. "Haul this filth to the Chamber of Eternal Sorrow," he told the dal'Sharum, dal'Sharum, "that the Damaji might take their time in flaying the skin from his misbegotten bones." "that the Damaji might take their time in flaying the skin from his misbegotten bones."

Abban let the tent flap fall and retreated into his pavilion, pouring himself a cup of couzi.

A few moments later, the tent flap rose and fell again.

"The Par'chin nearly broke Dama Kavere's knee," Jamere said. "He wants more than couzi to account for it."

Abban nodded, expecting as much. "You were supposed to volunteer to stall Kavere when I stumbled, not the Par'chin," Abban reminded.

Jamere shrugged. "He beat me to it," he said, "and would hear no protest."

"Well don't let it happen again," Abban snapped. "The Par'chin is valuable to me, and I would be most displeased to lose him."

"Do you think he'll find Anoch Sun?" Jamere asked.

Abban laughed. "Don't be stupid, boy," he said. "Those maps have been copied and re-copied for three thousand years, and even if they still manage to point him the right way, the lost city, if it even exists, is buried deep beneath the sands. The Par'chin is a good-hearted fool, but a fool nonetheless."

"He'll be angry, when he returns," Jamere observed.

Abban shrugged. "At first, perhaps," he began.

"But then you'll wave some other ancient scroll in his face, and he'll forget all about it," Jamere guessed, stealing a swig out of Abban's couzi bottle, not bothering with a cup.

Abban smiled, giving the boy the various bribes he would need when he returned to Sharik Hora. He watched Jamere go with a mix of pride and profound regret.

The boy could really have been something, if he wasn't set to waste his life as a dama. dama.

Deleted Scenes

THERE were a great many deleted scenes from were a great many deleted scenes from The Warded Man. The Warded Man. Some were cut for length (I had written an extremely long book by debut novel standards), or for pacing, or because they went off on tangents and reduced overall tension. Some were cut for length (I had written an extremely long book by debut novel standards), or for pacing, or because they went off on tangents and reduced overall tension.

However, many of those deleted scenes are nice little stories in their own right, and it's wonderful that Subterranean Press has given me the opportunity to share a couple of them, along with my commentary, in this great collection. What's best about the selections presented is that they are self-contained story arcs, and can be enjoyed by new readers and fans of the series alike.

Arlen

INTRODUCTION.

THIS SCENE IS how it all started. I was taking a fantasy writing cla.s.s in 1999, and we were given a homework a.s.signment to "write the first scene of an original fantasy novel." I wrote a little story about a young boy named Arlen who was never allowed to go farther from home than he could get by midday, because he needed to get back home before the demons came out at night. how it all started. I was taking a fantasy writing cla.s.s in 1999, and we were given a homework a.s.signment to "write the first scene of an original fantasy novel." I wrote a little story about a young boy named Arlen who was never allowed to go farther from home than he could get by midday, because he needed to get back home before the demons came out at night.

To be honest, I knocked the story out in one night, and after I got my grade (an A, natch), I threw it in a drawer for years. At the time, I was working on a different book, but Arlen was never far from my thoughts, and every once in a while I would jot down a few notes on his world. The entire Warded Man Warded Man series grew out of this 1600 word story. series grew out of this 1600 word story.

WHY IT WAS CUT.

THIS OPENING WAS one of the biggest points of contention between me and my editor. She felt quite strongly that prologues in general were obsolete, and that this one was also told in a very different voice than the rest of the book and didn't fit. She also thought it didn't add anything that couldn't be shown elsewhere. I couldn't have disagreed more, believing that it set the mood and scene perfectly, and was a view into young Arlen's personality that was essential. one of the biggest points of contention between me and my editor. She felt quite strongly that prologues in general were obsolete, and that this one was also told in a very different voice than the rest of the book and didn't fit. She also thought it didn't add anything that couldn't be shown elsewhere. I couldn't have disagreed more, believing that it set the mood and scene perfectly, and was a view into young Arlen's personality that was essential.

We had some... lively debates on the subject. I have a great deal of respect for my editor, and I tried very hard to see her side of things. It took me a while to separate my personal attachment to the scene to the point where I could consider things impartially. When I finally managed to do so, I realized that she was right, and cut the scene. I think the book as a whole works better without it, though on a personal level, it is still very near and dear to my heart. It makes me really happy to see it in print at last.

SCENE.

WHEN ARLEN WAS a boy, he would play outside until the last moment of dusk before answering his mother's calls. There was nothing worse than being locked inside each night, and he was determined not to let a minute of daylight be wasted indoors. a boy, he would play outside until the last moment of dusk before answering his mother's calls. There was nothing worse than being locked inside each night, and he was determined not to let a minute of daylight be wasted indoors.

He would rise while darkness still reigned, stepping over the threshold of his family farmhouse before even the c.o.c.k could crow, just as the first beams of sunlight topped the hills, brightening the reddened sky and sending the shadows scurrying away for another day. His mother wanted him to count to a hundred after that, but he never listened.

Adventure awaited, but Arlen knew his ch.o.r.es came first. s.n.a.t.c.hing the cloth-lined wicker basket from where it lay by the door, he would run to the chicken coop, ignoring the squawks of protest as he gathered the eggs, handling them as deftly as the colored b.a.l.l.s of a Jongleur.

With a dash back to the house, he left the eggs for his mother to find and was outside again in a moment. Before his father could pull on his overalls, before his mother had changed from her nightdress, Arlen was on a stool beneath the first of the cows. He left the milk and rushed to the rest of his ch.o.r.es while his father ate breakfast. The wellhouse, the curing shed, the smokehouse, the silo, each was paid a hurried visit, as if he were but a breeze pa.s.sing through the farm.

There was something comforting about the morning ritual. It reaffirmed his bond with the land, a bond severed each night as his mother locked the doors and his father checked the wards on the windows.

He let the animals out of the barn, guiding the pigs to their day-pen and the sheep to the pasture with cracks of a switch. He fed the swine and the horse, paying the sheep little mind. Even without the dogs to mind them, they would not venture past the wardposts, for the gra.s.s beyond was scorched and ruined.

There were other ch.o.r.es, less frequent, less comforting. Once in a while it happened that some animal or another was not where it was supposed to be by dusk, and was lost. He would find it the next morning, torn to shreds, and bury it behind the outhouse.

Arlen had done it all a thousand times, and he went about his duties with such practiced efficiency that by midmorning, he was usually done. By then, his father was well out into the fields checking the wardposts, and so he went back to the house for the familiar breakfast: oats, eggs, and bacon kept warm by his mother. He'd wolf it all down without a pause for air. A gulp of milk to help him swallow, and he was bouncing from his seat.

His mother caught him. She always did. There was always something for him to do in the house, the ch.o.r.es he hated most. But there was no denying his mother, and complaining would not fill the firebox, or sweep the floor, or put fresh charcoal sticks in the warding kit. "Yarn doesn't make itself," she would tell him.

By midday, he was free. Before his father returned from the fields with new ch.o.r.es for him, Arlen would s.n.a.t.c.h some bread and cheese and dash off to eat his lunch. Like his breakfast, he hardly tasted it. Food was sustenance, nothing more.

How far can I get today? he would ask himself as he ate his lunch. With nearly eight hours until dusk, he could head off in any direction he wanted for four. The sun's place in the sky would tell him when to turn back. he would ask himself as he ate his lunch. With nearly eight hours until dusk, he could head off in any direction he wanted for four. The sun's place in the sky would tell him when to turn back.

It was a dangerous game, one the other children of Tibbet's Brook dared not play. It was one of a thousand ways Arlen differed from them. All of the others were content to live in the Brook, never caring what lay over the next hill. It was a safe way to live. His father called it a smart way, but Arlen thought differently. The people of Tibbet's Brook were too content to take someone else's word for what lay up the road or through the woods or past the river to the south... if there even was was a river. Arlen preferred to see for himself. a river. Arlen preferred to see for himself.

How far could I get if I had all day? he always wondered. he always wondered. How far, if I didn't have ch.o.r.es in the morning, if I didn't have to turn back and run halfway to dusk? Could I make it to safety before they came?The How far, if I didn't have ch.o.r.es in the morning, if I didn't have to turn back and run halfway to dusk? Could I make it to safety before they came?The thought thrilled and terrified him. What lay beyond the point of no return? thought thrilled and terrified him. What lay beyond the point of no return?

Maybe today I'll keep going.

But his resolve always faded as the sun rolled across the sky, and halfway to dusk, he inevitably felt his feet turning him around.