Warden (15 page)

Chapter 28

Listening to Pierce sing went a long way towards making Errol forget much that was on his mind: Till’s death, the possibility that his dagger was an evil force, and more. The minstrel had a gift for removing his audience from the here and now and transporting them into his ballads.

Thus, Errol sat in the alehouse for quite some time, listening to songs while nursing a single mug of ale. He had purchased it only to be sociable, and to avoid taking up a seat that would otherwise be occupied by an actual patron.

Personally, Errol rarely ever drank intoxicating liquors. Two years earlier, someone had given his brother Tom a keg of ale as a gift. Errol, all of fourteen years old at the time, had insisted that he be allowed to have some. Tom had acquiesced, letting Errol drink his fill, which turned out to be quite a lot. What followed was a night of Errol having to sleep with a bucket beside his bed, a headache the next day that felt as though someone had wedged an axe in his skull, and several days of feeling abominably ill. Except on rare occasions, he had essentially avoided alcoholic beverages since then.

Errol, Jaden, and Prap had initially planned to inform Pierce of Till’s death after he was done for the evening. That way, any grief he felt would be unlikely to interfere with his singing. To their great surprise, however, he already knew about it when they approached him.

“The Apolos grapevine is pretty strong,” Pierce said. “I heard about it early this morning.”

Pierce then gave them an overview of what he’d heard, proving the city’s rumor mill to be fairly accurate.

“Well,” Jaden said, “let us buy you a drink so that we can toast both your future success and Till’s life.”

“That sounds great, but not here,” Pierce said. “I’ve been advised against drinking where I work, so I’d prefer to find some other venue.”

“I know a place,” Jaden said, nodding in understanding.

“Excellent,” Pierce said. “Let’s go.”

“You guys go ahead,” Prap interjected while looking elsewhere. “I’ll catch up shortly. I see an old friend I need to say hello to.”

Errol followed Prap’s gaze to a scantily-clad woman on the far side of the alehouse. She winked at Prap and blew him a kiss.

“Let’s get going,” Errol said to the others, shaking his head sadly.

The three of them wandered out into the street and then set off, with Jaden leading the way. (Much like their trip to the Wild Nymph, Jaden was certain he knew the most expeditious route to their destination.) With someone besides Prap in the vanguard, Errol now had no fear that a shortcut down a dark alley was a pretext for anything else. That’s why it came as such a surprise when an overwhelming feeling of apprehension started descending on him like a fog.

It began slowly at first, a slight feeling of anxiety that he initially chalked up to simple wariness of being in an unfamiliar place. However, as they continued walking, his uneasiness continued to build rather than dissipate. By the time they turned onto a narrow, dimly lit street (that in truth was little more than an alley), his trepidation was almost palpable. (Oddly enough, Pierce and Jaden – who had been engaged in lively conversation – seemed completely oblivious to whatever was giving Errol the jitters.)

Suddenly, Errol’s apprehension exploded into full-blown dread. Goose bumps formed on his arms as his nerves seemed to become super-sensitive, and his senses seemed to magnify tenfold. He came to a sudden halt, listening intently as he drew out his wand.

His mood was apparently infectious. Jaden, who had been saying something to Pierce about the place they were headed to, stopped mid-sentence and began looking around warily as he pulled out his own wand. Even Pierce, with no Warden training whatsoever, seemed to sense menace in the air.

“
What is it?” the minstrel asked, trying to follow the eyes of his companions in hopes of seeing what had them on edge.

“
I don’t know,” Errol said, scanning the area around them intently.
“
But something’s not right.”

Pierce’s nerves started getting the better of him, and he took a few nervous steps away from Errol and Jaden, clearly getting ready to run. Recognizing that the minstrel was on the verge of fleeing, Errol was about to mention that they needed to stay together when a shadow flitted over them.

They all looked up, and every instinct Errol had screamed
“
Danger!” so clearly that he thought his friends could hear it. A second later, there was a solid thunk as something large and heavy landed on the ground behind them, accompanied by an inhuman shriek.

Errol began to turn around. As he did so, he heard a distinct whooshing sound, like a staff being swung through the air. He instinctively ducked as he completed the turn, and something whistled over his head.

Errol found himself facing a creature he’d never seen before. It was obviously female, but about seven feet tall. Its dark hair – what little there was of it – stood in ragged clumps that seemed to have been placed sporadically around its head, like stalks of corn grown from randomly dispersed seeds. The rest of its scalp looked red, painful, and raw. Glowing yellow eyes set deep in rigid, ossified sockets stared at him. It had a mouth full of teeth that looked capable of shredding steel, and an angry scar began above its right eyebrow, went across the bridge of its nose and ended on its left cheek.

Last but not least, the thing had wings – hardy, membranous tissue between long fingers of bone, much like a bat’s. From Errol’s point of view, the wings seemed attached to the creature’s back between the shoulder blades, and when fully extended would clearly go from one side of the street to the other.

The whooshing sound which Errol had heard (and ducked) was the monster’s wicked-looking claw being swung in a roundhouse motion. Although it missed him, it connected solidly with Jaden before he’d even had a chance to turn around. Jaden was knocked off his feet and smashed solidly into the wall of a nearby building before sliding bonelessly to the ground.

Errol prepared to fire a spark at the thing, but in a move so deft it almost defied belief, the monster dropped down low – almost flat on the ground – and then spun while extending a wing in Errol’s direction. The appendage clipped him at the knees, and Errol’s legs went flying out from under him. The next thing he knew, he was looking up at the stars and feeling like a horse had kicked him in the head.

The creature roared fiercely, a sound that made nearby windows rattle in their frames, then stalked by Errol. Still on the ground, he twisted his head and saw that it was headed straight towards Pierce, who was paralyzed with fear and whimpering.

Knowing that he had to do something, Errol rolled over onto his stomach, then got up on his hands and knees. The world was swimming and he felt dizzy and sick; in the back of his mind, he realized that he probably had a concussion. Somewhere in the distance, it seemed like he could hear someone screaming, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Pierce.

Fighting to keep his thoughts coherent, Errol quickly realized that he must have dropped his wand when the creature swiped his legs. No matter…the wand was just a tool; he could do without it.

Still down on all fours, Errol raised his right hand, concentrating. A spark formed in his palm, and then rocketed away from him, striking the monster in the back. However, rather than blasting a hole in his target (or at least knocking it off its feet), the spark seemed to get…absorbed. Confused, Errol sent another spark at the creature, only to witness the same effect a second time.

Somewhat shocked, he blinked as the truth of what he was seeing worked its way through his brain: the thing couldn’t be hurt by magic. At least, not the magic of the Wardens. He needed to try something else.

Errol struggled to get his feet under him, and then lunged at the monster’s legs, wrapping himself around one of them. The creature seemed to stagger for a moment, but stayed on its feet. A second later, Errol found himself hoisted off the ground, a clawed hand around his throat.

Oddly enough, although it could easily have throttled him, the monster didn’t squeeze; it just held him there, bucking in its grip like an unruly child. Errol brought his hands up, trying to pry the creature’s claw away, but to no avail.

Errol’s vision swam; he couldn’t quite make out what was happening, but he thought he saw the thing swing its free arm viciously. There was a sound like a cleaver hacking into a leg of mutton, and at the same time the screaming, which had continued unabated up until that point, stopped.

Unexpectedly, the monster pulled Errol in close, looking into his eyes. Its own sockets seem to pulse and glow brighter, and Errol found himself unable to look away. An unusual sensation, but one which Errol was familiar with, crept through him.

Once, years before, a creature known as the White Widow had entered Errol’s mind and taken control of his body. Although he’d known what was happening, he had been completely helpless and unable to do anything but obey the White Widow’s commands. It had been terrifying. He could feel the same thing, or something close to it, happening now. Errol wanted to scream.

At the same time, memories sprang into his mind unbidden, images that began with the current day and then flipped back sequentially like the pages of a book before coming to a screeching halt on what had been his last night in the Badlands before arriving in Apolos.

While the monster was mentally rifling through his recent past, Errol searched for a weapon. (He couldn’t look away, but other than that it seemed that he had volition.) He remembered that he didn’t have his wand, and that his magic was useless anyway. However, he still had his throwing knife, which he drew with his left hand, and in his right he pulled out something…unusual.

He raised both hands, preparing to strike simultaneously with what he held in each. The monster, almost as an afterthought, grabbed Errol’s left wrist before he could do any damage with the knife, holding it immobile. As for his right hand, it presumably had seen what he held and dismissed it. Thus, it seemed to come as a surprise to the creature when the object in Errol’s right hand struck – and painfully stabbed – the arm that was holding him.

The thing howled, releasing its grip on Errol (who slumped to the ground) and looking at the object sticking out of its arm: a feather. A bladebeak feather. It grunted menacingly as it plucked the feather out, then glowered at Errol, as if trying to decide something.

Just then, there was movement near the end of the street, at the juncture where Errol, Jaden, and Pierce had entered. Straining, Errol thought he saw a person standing there. As his vision was still a little blurry, he couldn’t quite make out the person’s features, but he thought he recognized who it was by their stance and body form: Prap.

The creature looked at Prap, who didn’t move, then began screeching more profoundly than before and made as if to charge at him. At the same time, however, Errol heard voices – lots of them. They seemed to be approaching from all directions. Apparently the sound of their fight with the monster (or rather, the continual screams) was bringing out a good deal of the local population.

The monster, perhaps sensing that it was about to be seriously outnumbered, let out a frustrated shriek of fury. It then squatted, took a powerful leap up and, wings flapping mightily, took to the air.

Errol’s eyelids fluttered as he watched it disappear over the rooftops, then he slipped into unconsciousness to the patter of numerous feet running towards him.

Chapter 29

Errol awoke the next day to find himself in a large, comfortable bed covered with warm, thick blankets. For a second, he thought he was still asleep and dreaming, as he’d never been anywhere near a bed as soft as this. With that in mind, he was about to go back to sleep when a firm voice cut across his train of thought.

“So you’re finally awake,” Bander said.

Errol’s eyes snapped open. Standing at the foot of the bed was not only Bander, but also Jaden, Master Algim, and Prap. Somehow, he had failed to even notice that they were in the room, let alone standing right next to him. (In his defense, however, he had barely opened his eyes more than a crack before making the decision to go back to sleep.)

He sat up, blinking, and almost immediately felt something constrictive on his head, like a hat that was too tight. He raised a hand to his temple, felt some kind of cloth, then came to the realization that his head was wrapped in bandages. He was tempted to take them off, but when he sat up the back of his head had begun throbbing, and he decided that the bandages were fine as they were. On a nightstand next to the bed were his warding wand and the bladebeak feather, both of which, he later learned, had been recovered by Jaden.

“Where am I?” Errol asked no one in particular, while reaching out to retrieve his wand and the feather.

“You’re in my solar – on the second floor, where I sleep,” Master Algim answered. “When I heard that you were injured last night, I offered to treat you personally. However, I’m much too old to be jogging up and down stairs all the time, so I had them bring you here.”

Errol mumbled his thanks to the scribe and then glanced around. The four men were staring at him with solemn looks on their faces, looks that he immediately recognized and categorized. More importantly, thinking back, he already knew the cause.

“Pierce is dead, isn’t he?” Errol asked.

There was silence for a moment, then Bander answered. “Yes.”

The gory details followed. Although it had undoubtedly been quick, it had also been a quite thorough attack, with the primary thing of note being the fact that the monster had sliced Pierce’s throat open so strongly and deeply that it had almost taken his head off.

“Do we have any idea what that thing was?” Errol asked.

“Maybe,” Master Algim said. “Can you tell us what it looked like?”

Errol glanced at Prap and Jaden. “Hasn’t anyone already told you that?”

“I was knocked out before I even got a good look at it,” Jaden remarked as if on cue. “And Prap was too far away.”

“Frankly speaking,” Bander said, “you’re the only person who’s seen it up close.”

“And lived to tell about it,” Prap added.

Errol sighed, closed his eyes, and then tried to remember everything he could about the monster, verbally stating it all for the benefit of those around him, including how it seemed to be able to view his memories. When he finished, he opened his eyes to find Master Algim coming around the bed towards him. In his hand he held a book, which he opened to a certain page and then showed to Errol.

“Take a look at this picture,” the scribe said. “Is this the thing you saw?”

The book – apparently some kind of bestiary –actually showed two pages at the spot where it was opened. The left page bore nothing but text, but the right contained a full-color illustration of a monster that was the same as what Errol had faced the night before. Beneath the picture were the words, “The Aswang.”

“Yes, this is what attacked us,” Errol said after a moment. “Except, as I mentioned, the one last night had a livid scar across its face. Also, the creature in the illustration has a full head of hair. Our attacker looked as though she’d been in a catfight with another female and had all hers ripped out.”

Bander and Master Algim exchanged glances, but no one said anything.

“So is this what it’s called?” Errol asked. “An aswang?”

“Yes. It’s a vampire-like shapeshifter,” Bander said. “It supposedly drinks blood, eats children, etc. The typical monster-from-the-Badlands stuff.”

“Except you didn’t just encounter any run-of-the-mill aswang,” Master Algim said. “You fought Adversa.”