Warden (12 page)

Chapter 22

The scribe who escorted Errol from Ad Astra essentially dumped him at the guard gate of Wellkeep. From there, a young guard led him across a sprawling courtyard where – even as twilight was approaching – groups of Wardens-in-training practiced with weapons, warding wands, and more.

As they approached Wellkeep itself, Errol looked at the palatial building and couldn’t help but be awed. It wasn’t just the enormous size and imposing appearance of the structure; it was the fact that this was the source of everything he – and generations of his family – believed in, everything they had fought and died for over the years. Everything that they were.

His current escort accompanied Errol to the doors of Wellkeep, at which point he was handed off to a buttled servant. As it so happened, Errol was expected, and a short time later he found himself sitting on a bed – one of many – in the guest barracks (which at the moment served as home for about a dozen other Wardens). Next to the bed were his pack and gear from his horse, having already been in place when Errol was brought into the room.

Set in the wall next to Errol’s bed was a long row of windows. He opened the nearest one, intent on letting a little fresh air in. The room he was in actually sat on the third floor in a corner of Wellkeep. Surveying the area outside, he noticed that his current quarters overlooked a sizeable garden. Apparently the Wardens in Apolos put at least some effort into growing their own food rather than expecting the city to provide for their entire sustenance.

“Admiring the view?” asked a voice behind him.

Errol turned and saw that Bander had come up on him so silently that Errol hadn’t even registered his presence.

“Admiring this entire place,” Errol answered.

“I know you really haven’t had a chance to get settled,” Bander said, unexpectedly turning serious, “but if you don’t mind, the High Warden would like to see you now.”

“Now? The Senior Wardens want to assess me
now
?” Errol was more than a little surprised. He had just gotten here – had barely been in the place five minutes. It would have been nice to have a little more time to adjust to his surroundings.

“No, not the Senior Wardens,” Bander corrected him. “Just the High Warden.”

*****

It only took a few minutes to reach the High Warden’s quarters, at which point Bander – upon making introductions – excused himself.

In all honesty, the High Warden wasn’t anything like what Errol expected. He had always assumed that the leader of the Wardens would be a big bull of a man, the physical embodiment of power – a force of nature. Instead, his first thought upon seeing the supreme commander of the Wardens was that the man was incredibly short.

Later, Errol would realize that it wasn’t so much that the High Warden was short (although Errol had about four inches on him), but rather the fact that in Errol’s own mind the man had always been larger-than-life. He was clean-shaven, with iron-gray hair indicating that he was approaching middle age. Also, despite being slight of frame, the High Warden had a sinewy grip when he shook Errol’s hand that bespoke of impressive physical strength that belied his unimposing appearance.

“Thanks for coming to see me on such short notice,” the High Warden said after Bander had departed, leaving them alone. “I know that you only just arrived here but I wanted to meet with you.”

“Not a problem, sir,” Errol said.

The High Warden laughed. “You can stop with the ‘sir,’ too. You do know we’re related, don’t you?”

“Distantly. Through something like my eight-times great-grandmother.”

“Seven times,” the High Warden corrected.

Errol just nodded. Warden families often intermarried; it wouldn’t surprise him if half the men wearing the uniform were distant cousins of his, but the ties – like that with the High Warden – were so remote that they might as well not be related at all. Bearing that in mind, Errol suddenly realized why the High Warden had even bothered to mention it: the man was trying to establish a relationship with him, something outside the formality of their positions as superior and underling.

“Anyway, I suppose I should have just waited until your formal assessment,” the High Warden said. “But my curiosity got the better of me.”

“Curiosity?”

“About you.”

“What about me?”

“Why don’t we discuss that over dinner? Have you eaten yet?”

Errol replied that he hadn’t, at which point the High Warden led him to an adjoining room. Inside was a large ornate dining table capable of seating a dozen people, with a vast array of exquisite dishes laid out in its center. A half-dozen domestics dressed in livery stood unobtrusively off to the side, ready to serve them.

“I’m famished,” Errol said, looking at the mounds of food, “but this is probably more than I can eat.”

The High Warden laughed. “Don’t worry, it won’t go to waste. Some of my commanders will be joining us.”

Errol and the High Warden made small talk for a few minutes, at which time the commanders began to arrive. There were nine of them in all, ranging in age from about thirty to sixty, although most were well into middle age. Upon the arrival of the last of them, they all sat down to dinner.

The meal itself was superb. Errol had seldom sampled such a wide variety of dishes at a single sitting, nor could he remember enjoying the taste of cuisine so much.

Conversation during dinner initially consisted of the Wardens discussing current conditions: which regions needed Wardens, the level of danger currently posed by the Badlands, and so on. Errol’s opinion was casually solicited at first. Slowly, however, the topic turned more in his direction, and he unexpectedly found himself becoming more the focus of conversation.

“So,” a Warden named Bosh was asking him, “how do you think we’re doing with respect to the Badlands?”

“We’re holding our own,” Errol replied. “Keeping them at arm’s length.”

“But you don’t think that’s enough?” asked another called Britten.

Errol shrugged. “We’re mostly reactive, and have been that way for a long time. We wait until something happens – say, a manticore runs off with a kid in his teeth – then we take action.”

“And what would you do differently?” the High Warden asked.

Errol reflected for a moment before responding. “I think we need to be more proactive. What we do as Wardens is basically the equivalent of applying salve and treating wounds, when we need to look for ways to avoid being injured in the first place.”

“We essentially train Wardens to be warriors in magic and weapons,” said Bosh. “What you’re proposing is a new kind of thinking, one that’s not incorporated in our current instruction.”

“Then you have to start educating them differently, teaching future Wardens to find new solutions to problems rather than rely on traditional tropes,” Errol said.

“Is that how you defeated the Wendigo?” asked a muscular Warden named Grover. “I mean, you are the Wendigo Warden, right? That is what they call you?”

“So I’ve heard,” Errol said slowly, responding to the last question. His mind, however, was racing. He had a sudden, awful realization of what was happening, of why he was here. He frowned in anger, upset with himself for not seeing it before.

“Errol?” Britten said inquisitively. Errol looked up, suddenly realizing that he had been quiet for longer than anticipated and that everyone at the table was looking at him.

“So,” Errol said, eyeing each of his dinner companions in turn. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms defensively. “This is it. This is my assessment. You’re judging me. Right here. Right now.”

There was silence for a few moments as the Senior Wardens all looked sheepishly at each other. Finally, the High Warden sighed.

“Very perceptive,” the High Warden said. “But none of this was meant to be deceitful. We just thought that this setting would be far more comfortable for you than a formal hearing.”

Errol didn’t quite know what to say. “Why?” he asked. “Why even bring me here? None of this makes any sense.”

The High Warden took a sip of wine from a glass in front of him, then spoke:

He shall curse the witch, turn the basilisk to stone

Forge weapons from the Wendigo’s bones.

Errol was confused, unsure of how he was supposed to respond.

“Have you ever heard that before?” the High Warden asked. When Errol shook his head, the High Warden continued. “It’s part of an ancient poem, a prophecy, about a Warden who will be able to definitively defeat the monsters from the Badlands, and reclaim that land for human beings.”

“And you think it’s me,” Errol said plainly.

“Honestly, we don’t know,” Bosh interjected. “We don’t even know if that prophecy’s real to any extent.”

“But then we started hearing about you,” Britten added. “Wendigos, basilisks, and more.”

“Frankly speaking,” said the High Warden, “we’ve been taking it on the chin a lot lately in terms of fighting those…
things
that come out of the Badlands. So if there were any chance that the prophecy was true, we had to get you here.”

“So now what?” Errol asked.

The High Warden shrugged. “You’ve got Bander’s endorsement. Unofficially, that’s usually good enough for you to be appointed Warden anywhere. Officially, however, we still have to discuss it, so it’s not set in stone just yet. As to the prophecy…let’s just wait and see what the scribes have to say about your dagger. In the meantime, you’re our guest here. You have free rein to go anywhere in Wellkeep that you like, but I hope you’ll also spend some time getting to know the city.”

Errol, still trying to process everything he’d heard, just nodded numbly.

Chapter 23

Having stuffed himself with a huge meal and with no official duties to perform at Wellkeep, Errol had originally intended to perform the rare act of sleeping in the following day. Sunlight beaming in through the window, however, awakened him earlier than he had intended the next morning. Errol rolled over and out of the sun, intending to go back to sleep if he could, but an odd noise caught his attention.

He got out of bed and went to open the window. Looking down, he saw directly beneath him a large sow – it must have weighed several hundred pounds, easily – grunting. Errol was a little surprised; apparently they not only grew some of their own food here, but they also raised their own stock. Errol assumed that the animal had been rooting around in the garden for food, but it looked up at him oddly, almost like it was appraising him in some way. Errol felt an odd chill pass through him; he closed the window and backed away.

Now that he was fully awake, getting back into bed wasn’t really an option. Thus, he decided to go ahead and try to incorporate his normal routine into his new environment. Thankfully, it wasn’t particularly difficult, as Wellkeep had extensive grounds for him to jog and exercise upon. Afterwards, he had breakfast, which was served in a great hall near the kitchen, with Bander and Jaden.

Like Errol, Jaden actually had no official duties at Wellkeep; he was simply biding time until he received some sort of official appointment or other orders. Thus, over the course of their morning meal, the two of them decided to check up on Till.

“Unlike you two loafers, I actually have official business to conduct this morning,” Bander said. “However, if you can wait a few hours, I can go over with you around midday.”

Jaden and Errol had no objection to waiting, so it was decided that they would all meet at Ad Astra at noon.

*****

Errol spent the next few hours roaming the halls and grounds of Wellkeep with Jaden as a guide. Errol had to admit that his friend did an excellent job of showing him around and even introducing him to one or two other Wardens of note.

Shortly before noon, they headed to Ad Astra. Although they had tried to leave early, Bander was already waiting for them when they arrived. Not only that, but he had scrounged up one of the scribes to take them directly to Till.

Unlike his journey through the place the night before, this time Errol found himself being led down rather than up. He and his companions first followed their escort through the building to a creaky iron door on the far side of the building that required a key for entry. From there they went down a darkened stairwell to what appeared to be a dank and chilly basement.

Although there was light from torches on the walls, the scribe leading them removed a lamp from a table near the stairs, lit it, and began walking down a nearby hallway. From there, they passed through several other locked doors before entering what they were told was the last passageway.

“I thought we’d be going to the infirmary,” Bander said to their guide.

“No,” the scribe responded. “Your friend is in quarantine.”

Errol frowned at that. It made obvious sense, but he suddenly felt ill-at-ease knowing that they would not only be around Till’s particular affliction but other contagions as well.

Ahead of them Errol could see a light, and as they grew closer he could hear a loud cacophony of sound, much like animals in a jungle. After a moment, the hallway spilled out into a large, well-lit room, and Errol could see that his assessment was correct: all around them were all types of animals in cages – dogs, sheep, rats, and more. There were even a few animals (and he used that term loosely) that Errol didn’t recognize, such as a serpent that seemed to be covered in barbs, and a monkey with the tusks of an elephant and the horns of a bull.

“These are test subjects for the most part,” the scribe stated as they walked through the room. “Animals that we use to test vaccines and the like. Others are merely unusual creatures that are here for study because we don’t know much about them. Over there, for instance…” The scribe then began to give a detailed history of various creatures that they passed.

“Help me,” pleaded a soft, feminine voice. Errol, currently at the rear of his group, stopped and looked around, trying to determine the origin of what he’d heard.

“Help me,” the voice said again. This time, Errol noticed where it was coming from: a large cage in the center of the room. Inside of it was a beautiful, dark-haired girl who was dressed in next to nothing.

Errol broke away from his group (who didn’t seem to notice his departure) and walked towards where the girl was being held. She smiled at him hopefully.

“Please, help me,” she said sadly. “I’m being held here against my will.”

Errol, suddenly upset at what he was seeing, was about to walk to the cage and try opening it when a powerful hand gripped his arm and yanked him back. He jerked his arm free and turned angrily to find the scribe who had been escorting them standing there, along with Bander and Jaden.

“Stay behind the line!” the scribe shouted, pointing down at the floor. Errol looked down, and for the first time noticed that four lines, painted in red and forming a square, extended all the way around the cage.

“Watch!” said the scribe. He picked up a nearby bucket of water and tossed its contents at the girl in the cage, who screeched when the water touched her as though it were fire.

Errol’s temper suddenly exploded, and he would have charged the scribe except for the strong hands of his fellow Wardens that suddenly held him.

“Wait!” Jaden hissed in his ear. “Look!” he pointed towards the cage.

Errol turned his head in the direction indicated, and saw a remarkable transformation occurring.

The water had soaked the girl, and the excess liquid began to run out of the cage along a groove in the floor towards a large grate that Errol would later learn led to the sewers. The girl herself had flopped down to the floor, holding her head in her hands and looking down so that her face couldn’t be seen. As he watched, her hair began to change color, becoming an odd whitish-green. Her legs quickly fused together, and her feet became ribbed and started extending outward, looking remarkably like the caudal fin of a fish. Her hands took on a thin and bony appearance, tipped by long black nails that looked as though they had been filed to a point. Finally, as her complexion became increasingly pale, Errol heard an odd cracking sound issue from the cage, and then realized that it was her skin becoming scaled.

The woman looked up, and Errol flinched involuntarily. Her face, he now saw, was a horror: a long, malformed nose, a mouth full of shark-like teeth, and the dead eyes of a fish that were seemingly more on the sides of her head than on her face.

Suddenly the woman – if she could still be called that – screeched again and lunged in the direction of the scribe. Her clawed hand came just an inch short of tearing his face off, which is when Errol realized that their guide was standing just outside the painted square. Errol thought of how close he had come to crossing that perimeter and felt sick.

“What is that thing?” Jaden asked.

“A selkie,” said Bander. “A shapeshifter from the sea.”

“I’ll kill you!” the selkie screamed, rattling the bars of her cage. “I’ll kill you all! I’ll slit your throats! I’ll devour…”

The scribe began leading them away, but the selkie continued screaming threats until they left the room.

It was a few chambers away that they finally came across Till, sweeping the floor. He appeared rather happy to see them, and show them his right arm, which was now devoid of toadstools.

“They had to cut them off,” he said, “but, oddly enough, there was no pain. I couldn’t even feel them.”

“So you’re cured?” Errol asked.

“They don’t know yet,” Till replied. “My condition wasn’t totally unknown, but no one had seen it in centuries. They had to hunt through some of the oldest medicinal treatises we have to find anything on it. Regardless, I have to stay quarantined until they’re confident I’m not contagious. Cleaning up around here is a way to keep from dying of boredom.”

They spent a little longer catching up, then Errol and the other Wardens left, with a scribe once again escorting them out. When they passed the room with the selkie, she was once again a beautiful woman asking for help. Errol pointedly ignored her and walked even faster.