Warden (5 page)

“Really?” Errol asked, caught by surprise.

“Oh, yes. He’s absolutely deadly.
Without the right mindset, though, without the right personality, all we did in training him – and others like him – was make him dangerous.”

“
So,” Errol said,
“
you’re telling me there’s a whole generation of Wardens just like Prap.” The thought was almost enough to make Errol feel queasy.

“
No, not really. It didn’t take us long to realize we’d made a mistake, and we redoubled our efforts at recruiting the right types of people. Before long, our numbers, in terms of proper recruits, started to come up.”

“
But you still have people like Prap wearing the uniform.”

“
Yes, but the problem was what to do with them. Too dangerous to simply kick out, too incompetent to trust with real responsibility, too troublesome to simply leave idle. And so, we devise busy work to keep them occupied.”

“
Like sending two Wardens on a road trip that really only requires one.”

Bander winked at him, grinning.
“
You’re obviously a quick study when it comes to the academic side of being a Warden. Let’s see if you’re equally adept in the field.”

With that, Bander began testing Errol in earnest. He made the younger Warden pick a campsite for the night (a comfortable-looking glade), scout the local area for potential threats, and give a detailed account of their location – as well as identify true north – using only the stars as reference points.

In addition, the veteran tested Errol’s tracking ability. After locating a game trail near their camp, Bander made Errol identify and track certain animals that frequented the trail via their spoor – scent, paw prints, etc. He also had to provide particular details about said animals (such as size and weight), still with nothing more to go on than their tracks.

Finally, the older man examined Errol’s thaumaturgy. Errol had already used his wand to give them light as darkness fell. Now, he was tasked with setting the wards for their camp – placing the magical symbols around the glade that would keep them safe from the monsters of the Badlands while they slept.

In short, Bander gave Errol a fairly thorough examination with respect to being both a tracker and a wielder of Warden-magic, among other things. When they finally concluded after a few hours, Errol flopped down next to the fire of their campsite, weary but thoroughly confident that he had passed any test.

That said, he still felt the need to go back through everything mentally. Of course, the test had practically been child’s play for Errol. From selecting a campsite to tracking denizens of the forest, the skills that were being assessed were things that he had been doing since the time he could walk. He could practically do them in his sleep.

The only thing that caused him a slight bit of concern were the wards. Initially, Errol had crafted all of the wards surrounding their camp himself. However, after he had finished, Bander had examined the symbols and then had Errol redraw half of them – all on one side of the camp – according to the older Warden’s own specifications.

This had worried Errol initially, and for a moment he had feared that he had made a mistake and etched the symbols incorrectly. (It was a mistake he had made in the past, much to his shame.) Then he realized that this was just another evaluation of his competence, an effort to judge whether his ability to draw protective wards was an actual skill or the result of rote memorization.

Presumably he had drawn the wards correctly, because Bander, after reviewing Errol’s handiwork, had not made a single change to any of them. (At that point, Errol had muttered an incantation, making the wards glow with power as they became active.) Bearing that in mind, Errol wasn’t concerned that he had perhaps failed a critical portion of the assessment. No, what bothered him about the wards was something else entirely: the changes he’d made to the symbols on Bander’s order actually made the protection for their campsite
weaker
.

By Errol’s estimate, it was only moderately – not excessively – weaker, but weaker nonetheless. Errol was tempted to ask Bander about it, but decided to hold his tongue. Bander was not only Errol’s senior, but also a Warden of the first rank. He surely knew what he was doing. Moreover, even in their current state, the wards should be able to keep out most threats.

“
Well,” Bander said, cutting off Errol’s thoughts as he sat down on the other side of their campfire.
“
I’m sure you’re anxious to know how you did.”

Errol shrugged noncommittally as a sly smile crept onto his face. Bander saw it and smiled back.

“
Let’s just say your father would be proud,” the veteran said with a grin of his own.
“
You’re a fine heir to the Magnus legacy.”

Errol could only nod at this, his face almost going slack as he suddenly thought of Tom. It should have been his brother carrying on any family legacy. It should be his brother getting lauded as the person their father would be proud of. It should be–

Errol’s thoughts came up short as he suddenly realized that his companion had been speaking and was now looking at him expectantly, apparently waiting for a response of some sort.

“I’m sorry, Bander – my head was somewhere else,” Errol apologized. “What were you saying?”

“It was just a joke.” Bander laughed. “But you really zoned out there. Must be a girl.”

“What?” Errol was confused.

Bander was still grinning. “The only time I’ve ever seen a guy space out like that, it was about a girl.”

“No, no. It was…something else.”

“But there
is
a girl, right? Someone special?”

“Yes,” Errol said sheepishly, as if it were something to be ashamed of.

“I knew it!” Bander laughed. “At your age, there’s always a girl! So, tell me about her.”

Errol frowned, not sure where to begin. The girl in question was Gale Beverly, and – up until a few months ago – the very idea of becoming romantically involved with each other would have been anathema to them both. He had always seen Gale as an insufferable virago – an incessant nag who was constantly complaining about something. From her point of view, Errol had spent his life being little more than a wastrel, a mooch who wanted all the benefits of being a Warden without the attendant obligations.

Their unexpected relationship had its genesis in the fact that, somewhat recently, they’d found themselves hunted by one of the worst monsters in the Badlands: the legendary Wendigo. Surviving the encounter had required that they work together, which resulted in them developing a newfound respect and admiration (and affection) for each other.

That said, Gale was still as headstrong and opinionated as ever. For instance, three days earlier, when Errol had told her that he would be having guests (and the purpose of their visit), she had told him not to come see her until everything was resolved.

“You need to focus,” she’d said. “If being Warden is something that you really want now, I refuse to be a distraction.”

His protests – that she wouldn’t be a distraction and that spending time with her would actually help him by reminding him of what was important – fell on deaf ears. Gale was convinced that trying to divide his attention between competing interests would likely result in Errol half-neglecting one or the other – or both.

“But don’t worry,” she’d said just before they parted. “I’ll still be here when your guests leave, Errol Magnus.” And then she had given him a long, lingering kiss before sending him on his way.

Thinking that perhaps she was joking, Errol had gone to the Beverly farm the next day at the end of his rounds. Needless to say, he had been somewhat stunned when her father informed him that Gale wasn’t taking any visitors for the next few days. (Apparently she had been serious about not being a distraction.)

Since then, he’d tried to put Gale out of his thoughts and concentrate on showing his visitors that he had the requisite skill set to be Warden. However, now that Bander had brought up the subject, he realized how much he missed her.

With that thought, he suddenly came back to himself, and realized that Bander was watching him quietly, waiting for Errol to tell him about Gale.

“Well,” Errol began, reflecting on Gale’s recent refusal to see him, “if I had to sum her up in one word, it would be ‘difficult’.”

“Ha! That’s all women.” Bander chuckled. “But you can rest assured they say the same thing about us!”

Chapter 6

Errol awoke with a start, his hand automatically going to his Wendigo dagger, closing on the hilt of the blade. Something was wrong. Distinctly, definitively,
deathly
wrong.

He was still in his sleeping bag, safely within the protective confines of the wards he’d drawn around the camp. Nevertheless, something was making his hair stand on end. Thinking back, he remembered that, after chatting with Bander about Gale for a short time (and women in general), the two had called it a night. Glancing at the stars, he noted that he had only been asleep for an hour or two. That meant it was still the middle of the night.

Moving as little as possible (he didn’t know who or what might be watching), Errol turned his head towards where Bander had fallen asleep. Like Errol, the older Warden was already awake, eyes darting about as he, too, was trying to discern what was wrong. After a few moments, Bander gave an almost imperceptible nod and both he and Errol scrambled out of their bags and settled into fighting stances, back-to-back.

Wardens always sleep with their weapons close by, so it was no surprise that Bander arose armed with his warding wand and a short sword. Errol, having slept with his weapons on him, was similarly armed with his wand and Wendigo dagger.

Errol scanned the trees he faced, looking for any source of danger. That’s when he suddenly noticed how quiet it was. There wasn’t a sound to be heard in their vicinity. No insects, no birds, no nocturnal animals. That meant whatever was out there was close – probably
too
close.

Without warning, the Wendigo dagger began to glow with an eerie, eldritch light. While not particularly intense, the luminescence spread out to envelope the two men and much of their campsite.

“What are you doing?!” Bander hissed over his shoulder as the light from Errol’s weapon washed over him.

“It’s not me!” he responded. “It’s the dagger.” Errol looked at the weapon with something akin to fury.

Forged by a sorcerer from the bones of its monstrous namesake, the magical blade was pitch-black in color and inlaid with streaks of silver and mysterious symbols. Although its unique attributes (such as the ability to cut through almost anything) had quickly made it Errol’s favorite weapon, on several occasions – like now – the dagger seemed to possess a will of its own.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the light from the dagger seemed to wink out. Errol was on the verge of breathing a sigh of relief when the forest unexpectedly came alive. Two trees directly in front of him started moving swiftly towards their camp.

Errol went tense; he involuntarily took a step backwards, inadvertently bumping Bander. The older man peeked over his shoulder, then turned so that he and Errol were now standing next to each other.

“Gods!” the veteran exclaimed, tilting his head up.

It took Errol a second to orient himself, for his mind to adjust to the spectacle in front of him. He quickly realized it wasn’t trees that he was seeing move; they were, instead, the legs of a gigantic hominid. Like Bander, he quickly adjusted his frame of reference to incorporate more height in his assessment of the creature.

In general, it was shaped like a man, with two arms, two legs, and a torso. Aside from that (and not taking into account that it was about twenty feet tall), the only difference between it and a normal person was that it appeared to have no head. Instead, its face was on its torso, with eyes on its pectorals, a nose below, and then a mouth on its stomach.

It was a monster that Errol recognized, but had never encountered: a Blemmye.

The creature had a brownish-gray complexion that resembled tree bark in color. Considering the fact that its only clothing was a type of kilt made of leaves that was worn around its waist, it was easy to see how Errol had mistaken its legs for parts of the forest.

He had no time to dwell on his error, however, as the creature, growling fiercely, had reached the edge of their camp with just a few strides. The wards flared up, creating a crimson barrier that kept the monster from breaching their perimeter.

The creature howled in fury, revealing a maw full of red gums and sharp, pointed teeth the size of steak knives. In addition, the sound it emitted was like the roar of a dragon, chilling and deadly. Furiously, but ineffectively, it beat against the mystical barrier keeping it from its prey, each blow sounding off like a thunderous drumbeat.

Still on guard, Bander let out a small sigh of relief and Errol sent up a silent prayer as it became clear that the wards would hold. The monster wasn’t going to get in.

“What is that thing?” Bander asked.

“A Blemmye,” Errol answered.

“Let me guess: it wants to eat us?”

Errol didn’t bother with a response, as it was obviously a rhetorical question. They were in the Badlands; everything here wanted to eat them.

Although stymied in its efforts to get a meal, the Blemmye wasn’t ready to give up. It began circling the encampment, growling as it regularly and rhythmically banged on the barrier with a meaty fist the size of a hay bale.

Errol began to relax slightly. While there was still a threat present, it appeared that they would be safe for–

Errol felt himself immediately grow tense again as his ears picked up a new sound. With the monster’s last blow on the wall created by the wards, the noise the impact created had resonated differently. The tone deviated from what they had been hearing…a bit more hollow, perhaps. Shallower. Even the Blemmye was seemingly taken by surprise.

Suddenly Errol’s eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open. At the same time, the monster, sensing an opportunity, began banging on the barrier in this new spot with renewed fervor. Even worse, the reverberations that echoed with each blow were something both Errol and Bander recognized from experience: the sound of a weakening ward barrier.

It was abundantly clear what was happening. The wards that Bander had instructed Errol to etch – those that were weaker than Errol’s own – were failing. The Blemmye, obviously a more powerful foe than the wards had been expected to bar, was going to get in, probably in just a few seconds.

“Quickly!” Bander shouted, already on the move. “We have to go!”

Errol was already in motion before his companion had even gotten the first syllable out. He spent precious seconds collecting a few necessities – his log, rations, etc. (The rest could be recovered later – if they survived.) And that’s when he noticed something he should have perceived immediately: the horses were gone.

Errol could have kicked himself. The fact that there had been no wild snorts or neighs of terror should have registered with him. Just as he had noted the absence of sound in the forest earlier, he should have been attuned to the lack of noise from their steeds.

Clearly the horses had taken off as soon as the Blemmye showed up, possibly even earlier. They had only been tied to a sapling just within the glade, although it had initially appeared hardy enough to hold them. Abject fear must have provided a boost to their ordinary brawn, because their mounts had ripped the young tree up completely and run off with it.

Unfortunately, the fate of the horses was more than Errol had time to dwell on at the moment. He stuffed his necessities into his pack and slung it over his shoulder.

“Let’s go!” Bander shouted, his own pack on his back.

They took off running, in the direction opposite the Blemmye, just as the wards gave out. The monster, in the process of throwing another punch, stumbled forward off-balance as its fist suddenly met no resistance. Roaring, it fell to the ground with a thunderous impact that shook the terrain like an earthquake.

By that time, Errol and Bander – using their wands for light – were madly dashing through the trees, trying to put distance between themselves and the Blemmye. Indeed, it seemed that they were making good time, but Errol didn’t kid himself. With its stride, once it regained its feet, the Blemmye would probably be just minutes (if not seconds) away from catching them. As if to confirm this, he felt rhythmic vibrations in the ground, a cadence he recognized as a large body running at high speed. In his head, he imagined their gigantic adversary crashing through the forest in pursuit, knocking trees aside like tenpins. With that thought in mind, Errol – currently running in the lead – decided to pick up the pace.

Unfortunately, their increased speed only lasted a few seconds, as Bander suddenly lost his footing. The elder Warden, following close behind Errol, went down with a yelp.

Breathing heavily, Errol stopped and turned back to help his companion, who was just getting to his feet.

“I’m…fine,” Bander said between deep breaths. “Just…a little…fall.” He didn’t seem hurt, but was clearly winded. There was no doubt that the older man wouldn’t be able to keep up the brutal pace needed for them to escape.

The intensity of the tremors in the ground was increasing noticeably. Errol glanced back towards the way they had come. Through the darkness, he thought he could see the outline of a massive body moving in their direction, cutting a path through the forest like a child through a wheat field. They had only seconds before it would reach them.

Bander couldn’t run, and Errol couldn’t leave him to face the Blemmye alone. That made the choice simple.

“Kill your light!” Errol ordered. Bander stared at him for a moment, obviously not used to being told what to do, and then did as commanded. A second later, only Errol’s wand was aglow.

“Stay here,” Errol said, then turned away without waiting for a reply. The light from his wand suddenly shined like a beacon, and Errol took off running at an angle away from Bander, shouting at the top of his lungs.