Warden (Book 2: Lure of the Lamia)
Read Warden (Book 2: Lure of the Lamia) Online
Authors: Kevin Hardman
WARDEN
In dealing with the White Widow, there were several rules of engagement that had to be observed: Never look her in the eye. Always have a weapon in your hand. Never show fear. That said, you could occasionally disregard those guidelines and several others with respect to the Widow and still survive. However, there was one rule that was inviolable. Sacrosanct. Divine.
Never –
under
any
circumstances,
regardless
of the reason – never, ever enter her cabin. It was a rule Errol had just violated.
Suddenly, the door banged shut behind him with a sound like a thunderclap. Startled, he swiftly turned, dagger in one hand and crossbow in the other, to find the Widow standing there, all semblance of humanity gone.
“You violate the pact!” she screamed. “None may enter my abode! Your life is forfeit!” Then she charged him, claw-like hands outstretched.
She was too close for Errol to have time to raise the crossbow, so he slashed at her with his dagger, checking her momentum and making her draw her hands back towards her sides. He took a small hop into the air and planted a boot on her chest, intending to knock her backwards. Instead, it was Errol who went flying.
Kicking her had felt like kicking stone, and the force of the action as his leg extended had sent Errol backwards through the air. (The Widow, on the other hand, barely moved.) He came down on one leg, off-balance, and almost fell.
It was immediately evident to Errol what had happened. What he had mistaken for skin on the Widow was actually a carapace. Like numerous insects and arachnids, her body had a hardened exoskeleton.
The Widow cackled as she saw understanding dawn in Errol’s eyes. “Foolish and insolent boy! My children and I shall feast on you!”
Kid Sensation Series
Sensation: A Superhero Novel
Mutation (A Kid Sensation Novel)
The Warden Series
Warden (Book 1: Wendigo Fever)
Warden (Book 2: Lure of the Lamia)
Short Stories
Extraction: A Kid Sensation Story
WARDEN
Book 2: Lure of the Lamia
By
Kevin Hardman
This book is a work of fiction contrived by the author, and is not meant to reflect any actual or specific person, place, action, incident or event. Any resemblance to incidents, events, actions, locales or persons, living or dead, factual or fictional, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Kevin Hardman.
Cover Design by Isikol
This book is published by I&H Recherche Publishing.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address I&H Recherche Publishing, P.O. Box 1586, Cypress, TX 77410.
ISBN:
978-1-937666-13-2
Printed in the U.S.A.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the following for their help with this book: As always, I am thankful to GOD for all HE has done
–
and continues to do
–
for me; my children,
who keep me aware of how much wonder there is in the world; and my
wife, who remains a source a strength for me.
Table of Contents
Ward
/
wôrd
/ -
1. A division or district of a city or town, usually for administrative, representative, or political purposes;
2. A person under the protection, custody, or care of another;
3. A means of protection or defense; to protect or guard
Warden
/
wôrd
’
n
/ - A person charged with the protection, custody, or care of something
Chapter 1
Upon opening his eyes and finding his head resting in the lap of a beautiful woman, Errol Magnus assumed that he was still asleep and dreaming. The woman gently stroked his face and ran her fingers through his hair, while softly singing a lullaby in a language Errol couldn’t understand. Still, her voice was soothing, relaxing. Errol shifted to get more comfortable, and took the opportunity to get a good look at the woman.
She appeared to be fairly young, maybe just two or three years older that Errol’s own age of sixteen. She had overly-large green eyes, exquisite features, and – oddly enough – a greenish tint to what was otherwise long, brown hair that was braided. Moreover, she had leaves interwoven in her tresses. In fact, the dress she wore seemed to be made of leaves.
The woman’s song was rapturous, making Errol feel deeply moved on an emotional level, even though he couldn’t understand the words. At the same time, something felt off about the entire scenario. (For starters, he didn’t even know this woman.) Errol struggled to come to grips with what was going on, but the woman’s song kept clouding his mind.
Even more, she seemed to sense his mental confusion and smiled. Her song changed tempo, and she slowly bent down, obviously intending to kiss him. Errol ceased his mental struggles, closed his eyes, and tilted his chin up, eagerly waiting to meet her lips with his own.
The sudden baying of a hound startled him, and he instinctively reached for his dagger. As soon as he touched it, the hold that the song had on him was gone.
Errol leaped to his feet and into a defensive stance, his dagger in his right hand and his warding wand in his left. He faced the woman, whom he now recognized as a tree nymph.
Nymphs in general were rare, though not completely uncommon. They seldom interacted with men, unless it was to play pranks. That said, there were rumors that they occasionally fell in love with and married humans. In fact, one of Errol’s own great-great-grandmothers was purportedly a nymph of some sort. Nevertheless, this was as close as Errol had ever personally gotten to one.
The nymph seemed slightly bewildered.
“My spell,” she said. “How did you break it?”
“Spell?” Errol asked, a bit groggily.
“Yes. I’ve never known a human to be able to break that particular enchantment.”
Errol was still slightly confused. Next to his leg, the bloodhound that was with him, Mobley, barked sharply. It was the dog’s baying that he’d heard while still under the nymph’s hypnotic song. It was only after touching his dagger that he seemed to regain control of himself. Absentmindedly, he glanced at the weapon. The nymph followed his gaze, seeming to note the blade for the first time.
The dagger – a pitch-black blade inlaid with streaks of silver and subtle runes – seemed almost ceremonial by design. Forged by a sorcerer from the bones of a monster – a Wendigo – it had a blade that could cut through almost anything and which would never grow dull. It was, in short, a weapon that was both impressive in appearance and formidable in action.
“Now I understand,” said the nymph, taking a final look at the blade before turning her attention back to Errol. “But please know that I meant you no harm.”
Errol scoffed. “You say that after admittedly trying to ensorcel me?”
“I only meant to open your mind to my plea, not control your actions. Nothing I did was intended to cause you harm.”
Errol thought about that for a moment. They were presently deep in the Badlands, where monsters were as commonplace as blades of grass. He had warded the camp before settling down for the night. Had the nymph truly meant him harm, the wards would have flared and become active the minute she entered their sphere of influence.
Convinced that she had no intent to cause harm or mischief, Errol put away his wand and dagger.
“What is it that you want?” Errol asked.
“We need your help, Warden.”
“First of all, I’m not a Warden. My brother Tom is Warden for this region. At best, I’m a Deputy Warden. Second, who is ‘we’?”
“The forest,” said the nymph in an all-encompassing gesture.
“You mean the Badlands.”
“Not in the manner in which you speak. You call it the Badlands because of the creatures that dwell in it, but I’m not talking about those. I mean the trees, the grass, the shrubs. I’m speaking of them. I’m speaking
for
them.”
“You talk about them like they’re sentient.”
“They are. Unfortunately, they don’t have the ability to communicate in a way that humans are familiar with.”
“Be that as it may, the forest was here long before there were people, and will probably be here long after we’re gone. What could it need my help with?”
“A basilisk.”
Chapter 2
Errol went about breaking camp as the nymph, whose named turned out to be Samara, patiently explained her dilemma. Apparently, just a few weeks earlier, a basilisk had entered the region. Able to deal out death with a glance and with breath that took the form of poisonous vapors, the monster had cut a macabre path through the Badlands. However, rather than simply passing through as such creatures often do, the monster had taken up residence in the area. As a result, nearby plant life was beginning to wither and die. Even hardy trees, hundreds of feet tall and thousands of years old, were succumbing.
“Without the trees – especially the ancient ones – we nymphs will die.”
Errol listened to all this halfheartedly. A Warden’s commission was to protect
human beings
from the living nightmares that walked the Badlands. The other forest denizens – nymphs, sprites, pixies, what have you – were presumably able to take care of themselves (although that apparently wasn’t the case), and he said as much to Samara.
“We’ve tried to get the creature to leave, but have been less than successful, obviously. It’s clear now that either it – or we – will have to perish.”
“So just kill it,” Errol said. “You nymphs have powerful magic. What do you need me for?”
“It is against our principles to take life – even from a beast such as a basilisk.”
“So you want me to do your dirty work for you.”
“Please,” she said pleadingly. “We would be forever in your debt, and one could do worse than have the forest as a friend and ally.”
Errol sighed stiffly. This is not how he had expected his day to go. He had anticipated getting up and heading back home to the Warden Station, having spent the past three days in restless pursuit of an amarok. The gigantic, wolf-like creature had killed and eaten three cows at the Pierce farm before mauling senile, old Benton Pierce almost to death.
Errol had borrowed four hunting dogs from the Pierces when he set off after the amarok. After three days of being chased deep into the Badlands, the creature had finally turned and stood its ground. Although Errol – by leaping into the fray and stabbing it with his dagger – had eventually been able to bring the monster down (its hide was now packed on his horse), all of the dogs except Mobley had been killed. Needless to say, Errol wasn’t quite in the mood to launch immediately into another monster hunt – especially for one that could kill with a look.
“Wait a minute,” Errol said. “How do you know it’s a basilisk? I mean, a basilisk can kill any living thing by looking at it.”
“The Greenlife – the plant life and spirit of the forest – have powers of observation that men are unaware of. They said it was a basilisk.”
“So if they can observe it without being killed, what’s the problem?”
“The creature’s breath is a noxious miasma that causes the Greenlife of the forest to atrophy and decay. Likewise, its bodily fluids – saliva and sweat – are a venomous blight.”
Errol heard all this with a dispassionate ear. Frankly speaking, he didn’t care for the job of Warden (despite being descended from a long line of them) or the dangers that went hand-in-glove with the position. It had always been his desire to move from Stanchion Ward
–
the rural region where he’d grown up
–
to one of the cities, where weirdlings from the Badlands (like basilisks) were unknown. His brother Tom had been Warden of Stanchion, and in Errol’s mind he still was – despite being missing for the past three months.
Tom had been an exceptional Warden, but he had crossed paths with one of the worst creatures the Badlands could offer – a Wendigo. Tom had only escaped by having a roc carry him off, and (against all odds) Errol had somehow managed to kill the Wendigo, which ultimately became the source of his dagger and a few other weapons he carried.
It was his brother who had overseen Errol’s Warden training after their father died seven years earlier. Errol had always resented it, but it was that training which enabled him to survive his encounter with the Wendigo. Since then, he had been carrying out the duties of Warden in honor of his brother – and in expectation of his return.
As the nymph waited silently for his response to her plea, Errol asked himself a question that had repeatedly saved his life since his brother’s disappearance: What would Tom do?
He didn’t have to dwell on the issue for even a second, because he already knew the answer. Tom would offer the nymph his assistance. Errol sighed despondently at the thought.
*****
Three hours later, Errol was slipping furtively through the trees, moving as silent as a ghost, when the bloodhound next to him bayed sonorously, causing birds in the forest canopy to take off in flight. Errol rolled his eyes, wondering why he was even bothering with trying to move stealthily with the dog barking thunderously every few minutes. Nevertheless, moving silently had been so thoroughly ingrained in him as part of his training that he did it instinctively, without having to think about it.
“Quiet, Mobley!” Errol hissed. As usual, the dog softly whined at being admonished before going silent. Errol knew, however, from painful experience, that it would not last long. It was a pattern they had been repeating since entering this portion of the Badlands.
They were getting dangerously close to the basilisk. The creature had been fairly easy to track. Samara had pointed him in the right direction, and after an hour or so he had come across the monster’s trail: a path through the greenery bordered on both sides by blackened, withering plants and the occasional dead animal.
“You are in no danger here.” Samara’s voice came unexpectedly from the trees above Errol, almost making him jump. He looked up to find her standing casually on a tree limb about twenty feet above the ground. The nymph possessed some odd ability to flit through the trees at a high rate of speed, and it was not the first time her voice or appearance had startled him since agreeing to help her.
“The Greenlife says the creature is in its lair,” she continued, pointing towards a rocky hillside that Errol could partially see through thick tree branches around him. It was in the direction of the basilisk’s trail.
He nodded at this bit of information. Samara had already informed him that the monster had taken up residence in a nearby cavern that connected to a network of tunnels. It was no less than Errol expected; none of these beasts ever lived out in the open. There was always a burrow to enter, a lair to invade, a cave to explore.
A few minutes later, Errol and Mobley reached the end of the tree line. Not far away, he saw the entrance to a cave in the hillside. The trail of the basilisk led directly to it. Errol shushed Mobley after the dog barked again, then – as Samara dropped down beside him – he turned away to think for a moment, reviewing what he knew about their prey.
Basilisks generally grew to be about the size of a large dog. (Judging by its footprints, however, this one was likely the size of a small horse.) It was basically reptilian, but with a feathered head. Although it could kill with a look, the bones of the monster’s neck were fused, such that it couldn’t turn its head. In essence, in order to look to the side or behind it, the basilisk had to turn its entire body. Thus, approaching from the rear was the safest way to kill a basilisk.
In addition, the monster’s lair was a problem in and of itself. Just looking at it, Errol had no doubt that there would be little light inside the cave, and he had no desire to go stumbling around in the dark and maybe fall down a crevice. At the same time, he had no wish to have a light with him – although he could use his warding wand to manifest such – and then run the risk of coming face-to-face with the creature. He explained the problem to Samara when she questioned him about why he was delaying.
“In essence,” he said, “I need light to see, but also the darkness to keep from getting killed.”
“I see,” Samara said. “Let me ponder this a moment.”
“Or I could simply leave and come back at another time.”
“No,” Samara said, firmly shaking her head at the suggestion. “There is no guarantee that circumstances would be any more advantageous if you were to leave and come again. Moreover, we would continue losing much of the forest in the interim. It is not clear to your eyes, but the monster’s poison is spreading deep into the forest, far beyond what you are able to observe.”
“Well, I’m not sure what our other options are.”
“I shall ask the Greenlife.” And with that, she scampered up a nearby tree and disappeared.
She returned a quarter of an hour later, carrying a weird plant that Errol had never seen before. It was heart-shaped and green, with thick brown roots that secreted an unappealing purple ooze.
“The Greenlife offer a solution,” Samara said. “First, there is a lichen within the creature’s lair that emanates light.”
Errol nodded. He’d seen luminescent moss and the like in caves before. It was naturally-occurring, and would keep him from having to use his wand for light, which would be a sure indication to the monster that uninvited guests were in its cave.
“Second, there is this,” she said, holding up the odd-looking plant.
“What is that?” Errol asked, frowning.
“One of the great secrets of the forest – a marvo shoot.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Few humans have. Even fewer have seen it, so count yourself blessed.”
Samara raised the plant near her lips and, closing her eyes, began whispering to it. Slowly, a hazy purple light began to surround it. Recognizing that magic was afoot, Errol placed his hand reassuringly on the hilt of his Wendigo dagger as the marvo’s roots began wriggling madly, like a bunch of angry worms. Samara suddenly opened her eyes and held the plant out to him.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Errol said. When she didn’t respond, he let out a frustrated groan, then reached out to take the shoot from her.
The plant was surprisingly weighty, feeling more substantial than Errol had anticipated. In addition, despite the roots squirming like tentacles on an insane octopus, the marvo wasn’t unpleasant to hold. Still, Errol kept it at arm’s length.
He turned to Samara. “Okay, now wh–ahhhh!!!”
Errol screamed as the marvo squirted the ooze he had previously noted on its roots into his eyes. He dropped the plant and began rubbing his eyes vigorously.
“What the–blarrrhhhh!!!” Errol’s angry statement was cut short as some type of goo – obviously from the marvo – shot into his mouth. Almost retching, he doubled over and spat much of it out, but could not avoid swallowing some of it. The taste was bitter and vile; he felt like he was going to be sick.
Mobley, who had begun barking like crazy the moment Errol got sprayed in the eye, was now making so much racket that Errol almost didn’t hear the sound of something scrambling on the ground near him. He instinctively drew his dagger, and then realized with a start that he couldn’t see. The world around him was pitch black. The nymph had seemingly played a prank on him, only it had cost him his sight.
Both terrified and furious, he swung at the place he felt he had last seen Samara. “You evil witch! You’ve blinded me!”
“No,” came the response. “I swear I only–”
Errol rushed the spot where the voice seemed to come from – and went sprawling as he tripped over Mobley, losing his dagger in the process. He quickly struggled to his hands and knees, then stood up.
“Wait,” said Samara’s voice, right next to him. Errol swung a fist in that direction, at the spot the voice seemed to originate from, as fast as he could. He felt it connect, followed by a small yelp from the nymph.
Errol dropped into a fighting stance, still unable to see but listening intently. Suddenly, his legs were swept out from under him. He landed on his back with a bone-jarring thud. Before he could recover, a weight suddenly descended on him – the nymph, straddling his chest. He was about to shift his own weight and attempt to throw her when he felt a blade (presumably his own dagger) at his throat. Errol froze.
“Go ahead,” he said, defeated. “Kill me. It’s what I deserve for trusting you, for trusting anything that lives in the Badlands. Being blind here is a death sentence anyway.”
Without warning, the nymph gripped his right wrist and raised it. Errol felt a comfortable and familiar object as the Wendigo dagger was thrust into his hands, then placed by the nymph at her own throat.
“I mean you no harm, Errol Magnus,” she said, “and if you feel I have betrayed your trust then my life is yours. I ask only that you allow me to explain before you make your decision.”
Errol, still angry, thought about how good it would feel to thrust the blade home, but decided against it. “Start talking,” he said.