Warden (14 page)

Chapter 26

Upon returning to Wellkeep, Bander extended an offer to have Errol’s clothes cleaned (since the smell of the sewers was clinging to them). Errol, thankful that he’d had the foresight to bring an extra set of clothing, eagerly accepted. However, even after a lengthy and thorough hot bath, he still felt a little dirty, as well as uneasy. There was something about Till’s death that just didn’t feel right – especially with the selkie’s insistence that she hadn’t done it. There was no reason to believe her (particularly in light of her attempted attack), but Errol hadn’t gotten the impression she was lying.

He had gone to sleep with those thoughts in his head, and found them still there when he awoke. As he had the day before, he heard grunting in the garden and again looked out to find what he assumed was the same pig in the garden below.

Scanning the room, Errol saw that most of the other Wardens were still asleep, including Jaden. Tiptoeing out so as not to wake anyone, he headed down to the kitchen to see if he could get an early breakfast. Thankfully, the cooks had already gotten started on the morning meal, and he was able to get some bread and bacon, which he took to the great hall that served as a cafeteria. Only a few other Wardens were present, and Errol ended up getting a table to himself.

His thoughts were troubled as he ate his meal. Apolos wasn’t turning out to be quite like what he had imagined. Although there was much to see and do, the city had a seedy underbelly that he didn’t think he could get used to: open sewers, bawdy women, cutpurses, and now monsters.

That last was a terrible mental blow to Errol. His primary reason for wanting to move to a city was the purported rumor that they had no such monsters there. Now he saw that they not only had them, city leaders (like the scribes at Ad Astra) actually imported the darn things so they could study them! It was all incredibly foolish as far as Errol was concerned.

A notion formed unexpectedly in Errol’s brain, taking root and attaching itself firmly to his consciousness. There was no way, he decided, he was going to live in the city. Although he’d only been there two days (less than that, in truth), he knew that it wasn’t the place for him. In fact, he resolved to leave at the first opportunity, which in this case meant as soon as he could retrieve his dagger. As for whether or not he would be considered fit enough to be formally recognized as a Warden, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

*****

Errol had actually planned to call on Master Algim in the early afternoon. Because he knew little of the elderly scribe’s sleeping habits, he hadn’t wanted to come around too early. Thus, it was a bit of a surprise when Master Algim actually sent for him shortly after breakfast.

When he was shown into Master Algim’s solar, Errol immediately offered his condolences with respect to Till.

“Thank you, on behalf of all the scribes,” Master Algim said. “Not just for your sympathy but for your actions in helping to bring down the creature who killed him.”

Errol kept any doubts he had about the selkie’s guilt to himself. He just felt it would be disrespectful somehow to do otherwise. Attempting to change the subject, he casually asked about his dagger.

Master Algim suddenly became excited and led him over to a corner of the room. There was a desk there with drawers, one of which Master Algim opened and then pulled out Errol’s Wendigo dagger.

“This blade,” Master Algim said excitedly. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Not just the substance of it, but the symbols. I’ve never seen runes of power like this.”

“So it is magical?” Errol asked, although he’d already known the answer to that question.

Master Algim guffawed. “Calling it ‘magical” would be putting it lightly, like saying it’s breezy when a tornado is blowing. Tell me, have you killed with it yet?”

“Excuse me?” Errol asked, somewhat taken aback.

“I’m sorry,” the scribe apologized. “I should explain. The first person who uses the dagger to kill is the person who becomes its master. So, have you used it to kill?”

An odd memory flashed through Errol’s brain. When the sorcerer Jarruse was forging weapons from the Wendigo’s bones, he’d had Errol tied up nearby. Jarruse hadn’t killed him immediately, and Errol had always assumed that it was because the sorcerer, by his own admission, only had a limited time to make use of the Wendigo’s bones.

In retrospect, Errol now realized that – while Jarruse had indeed been pressed for time – that wasn’t what had saved him from a quick death at the sorcerer’s hand. Jarruse had been waiting to finish the dagger, and then use it on Errol. In fact, Errol had a very specific memory of the sorcerer coming towards him menacingly after completing the weapon.

Master Algim’s hand on his shoulder brought Errol back to himself, and he quickly grasped the fact that the scribe was waiting on an answer.

“Yes, I’ve used it to kill,” Errol admitted. “Since…since I had to kill to become its master, does that mean that the dagger is evil? That using it makes me evil?”

“As to you being evil, I highly doubt that,” the old scribe said. “With respect to the dagger, that’s a more difficult question. It’s incredibly potent in a way I’ve never heard of, and it’s certainly not a peace-time weapon. But evil? Who knows? Is a sword in the hands of a bad man evil?”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that the dagger’s disposition, whether good or evil, is quite possibly a reflection of its master’s.”

“In other words, it’s my character and frame of mind that influences the dagger, not the other way around.”

“Exactly.”

A great sense of relief came over Errol, an easing of tension that had been building for months – ever since he laid claim to the dagger – which he hadn’t even known was there.

“Thank you, Master Algim,” Errol said. “I owe you a great debt. If I can ever do anything for you, just let me know.”

“Well, there is one thing,” the scribe said. “As you know, I studied the dagger primarily to provide information on it to the Senior Wardens and other leaders of the scribes. My reports to them are complete, but…”

“But what?” Errol asked as Master Algim trailed off.

“In truth, I’ll probably never see another blade like that as long as I live. No one will. So if you could see your way to letting me examine it just a little longer, maybe another day or so, I’d be grateful.”

Errol thought for a moment. Getting his dagger back was all that was standing between him and going home. At the same time, Master Algim had done him a great favor, enlightening him with information about the weapon that he’d never have gotten himself.

Suddenly, Errol smiled. “Of course, Master Algim. It’s no problem.”

Chapter 27

Errol returned to Wellkeep with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he was happy to have found out more information about his Wendigo dagger; on the other, giving his consent for Master Algim to study the blade meant he’d be spending more time in Apolos.

He spent the remainder of the day on his own, declining an invitation from Jaden to see more of the city. Instead, he took advantage of an opportunity to leaf through the various books in Wellkeep’s extensive library – particularly the reference manuals, where he was able to learn about various creatures from the Badlands that were foreign to his experience.

As the day turned to evening, he eventually found his way to the great hall for dinner, where he was unexpectedly joined by Prap. The rotund Warden had been made aware of Till’s death, and that was part of the reason that he had sought Errol out.

“Jaden found out that Pierce got a job at one of the alehouses,” Prap said. “A place called the Wild Nymph.”

“That’s great,” Errol noted sincerely. “He’s a fantastic singer and should do very well.”

“True,” Prap said with a nod. “Jaden and I were thinking of going there tonight, to let him know about Till. You’re welcome to come.”

Although he had intended to stay in, it was an invitation Errol really couldn’t decline. Thus, a few hours later, he found himself getting ready to go out at a time when he normally would have been on the verge of going to sleep.

At some point during the day, one of the servants had apparently brought the clothes that Bander had promised to have cleaned and laid them out on his bed. Errol was putting them away when he came across the bladebeak’s feather.

He’d practically forgotten that he’d brought it with him, and stood there staring at it for a moment, thinking about how long ago and far away his battle with the bird seemed now.

“What do you have there?” Jaden asked, coming up on him unexpectedly.

“Just a bladebeak feather,” Errol answered. He moved to put the plume away, but his friend stopped him.

“No, no, no,” Jaden said. “Bring it. I’m sure there’s a story behind it that’ll be worth a few rounds.”

A short time later, they met Prap down by the main door and left.

*****

As they walked to their destination, it was Prap who led the way. Although it was Jaden who had found out where Pierce was playing, Prap claimed to know a shortcut to the alehouse.

Whether or not it was a shortcut, Errol had no idea, but their route was certainly maze-like. They went through various twists and turns, going down dark alleys, through lightless corridors between buildings, and down dimly lit streets. On more than one occasion, Jaden and Prap got into an argument as to which was the proper direction. On each such occasion, Prap, refusing to back down, emerged the victor. Also, he refused to let them use their wands for light.

“
If anyone sees our wands, they’ll know we’re Wardens and be on their guard,” Prap said.
“
I was hoping we could just go out and mix and mingle with the common people.”

“
Did he forget that we are wearing the uniform?” Jaden whispered to Errol, out of Prap’s earshot. Errol simply shrugged.

After about an hour of what seemed like aimless wandering (and with Errol pondering why they had not ridden their horses if it was going to take so long), they came to a long, dark alley much like several they had traversed before, but which Prap was certain represented the final stretch before they reached their destination.

Errol glanced down the alley in question, feeling a sense of disquiet that had not been present earlier in the evening. The pathway was particularly dark, being lined on both sides by buildings at least three stories high. In addition, there were darkened recesses on both sides that someone could easily be hiding in. The only light Errol saw was about halfway down the alley; from the angle at which it could be seen, it appeared to be cast by an open upstairs window.

Prap began walking down the alley; Jaden and Errol followed on his heels a second later, almost without thinking about it. When they reached the midway point (where the light did indeed come from an upstairs window), four men armed with knives, dirks, and the like stepped in front of them. And if that weren’t enough, four more stepped behind them.

Practically without thinking about it, Errol and his companions came together like a tripod, with their backs to one another. Errol automatically reached for his warding wand, and the fight was on.

Two of them rushed at Errol; he fired a spark from his wand at one of the men, striking him in the midsection. Upon contact, it sent the man flying backwards, unconscious.

By that time, his other assailant had closed with Errol and gripped the wrist holding the warding wand, pointing it up so that Errol couldn’t fire at him. At the same time, he tried to stab Errol with a steak knife. At the last second, Errol caught the wrist holding the knife with his free hand.

The man appeared scrawny and dirty but apparently had a strength born of desperation. Errol grappled with him for a few seconds then kicked out hard and felt his foot connect with the man’s shin. His attacker howled, but still held on.

Errol kicked the man’s shin again; this time he heard a loud snap. His assailant went down on one knee, screaming, and losing his hold on Errol’s wrist. Errol kicked him square on the chin, knocking him out.

Errol looked around to see if his companions needed any help. Jaden, apparently attacked by two men as well, had put them both down. Prap, amazingly, seemed to have taken on four of the robbers (which is clearly what they were) all by himself. Three of them were already out cold, leaving Prap facing only the last.

Holding a short sword, the last robber swung at Prap, who sidestepped the blow. Prap then caught his attacker’s sword-arm, pulled on it hard, and then headbutted the man on the nose as he was yanked forward. There was a sickening crunch, and then the man flopped down to the ground unconscious, his nose a bloody ruin.

Prap looked around eagerly, clearly in anticipation of having another opponent. There was a malicious gleam in his eye and a broad grin on his face that plainly conveyed his mood at the moment. Errol suddenly realized that the attack they had just experienced wasn’t entirely random. Prap had wanted this to happen; he had been looking for a fight since they’d left Wellkeep. It was the reason why he had led them down a dozen dark backalleys and gloomy streets. He had wanted to get attacked, to get into a fight. There was a certain bloodlust in him that was as vicious as any monster from the Badlands.

Thankfully, whatever craving that Prap had had for fisticuffs was apparently satisfied; not five minutes later, they were seated in the alehouse where Pierce was singing.