Warden (Book 2: Lure of the Lamia) (4 page)

As when he’d first seen her, she bore the semblance of a beautiful woman. Also as before, she was dressed in white and unnaturally pale.

“Welcome, Warden,” she said, voice devoid of warmth. Errol was tempted to correct her, but decided not to. It seemed that half his words these days were spent making it clear that he wasn’t the Warden, but he didn’t feel like discussing it at the moment.

“Widow,” he said in acknowledgement. As he watched, she moved her hands in an odd motion, almost as if she were wringing them. Looking closer, Errol saw a fat, hairy spider crawling across her palm. When the arachnid reached the edge of her hand, she would place her other hand there for it to continue walking.

“What can I do for you this fine day?” she asked, barely looking in his direction as she played with the spider.

To Errol, her voice had a brittle edge that made it feel as though being helpful was the last thing on her agenda. Nevertheless, he hadn’t come this far to be turned back by her tone.

“The Warden of Stanchion,” he said, “my brother Tom, is currently missing.”

She nodded. “I have received word of such. I have also been informed that you have been more than adequate as a replacement.”

Errol ignored her last statement. “Have any of your children brought you word of his whereabouts?”

“Most of my children are simple-minded creatures,” she stated, still playing with the spider in her hand. “You speak of situations they would take no notice of without reason. Assuming they have seen your brother, it would be of no interest to them – unless he were food.”

Errol was undaunted. “I need you to ask your children if they have seen him, and if so, where.”

“Fine,” she said, bending down and placing the spider on the ground. “Although it is not exactly in accord with the pact that was made when I came to live here, I’m willing to lend my assistance.”

Pact?
Errol knew that there was some sort of agreement or understanding that past Wardens had had with the Widow, but he had no idea that anything formal had been established. Fortunately, the Wardens generally kept detailed records; he made a mental note to review the reference manuals when he got home.

Then she stepped close to him. “But,” she continued, “if I do this, I need you to do something for me.”

She placed her hand upon Errol’s knee, a move that caught Errol so by surprise that he forgot his training for a moment and looked her in the eye. Instantly, she was in his mind.

As before, he felt a probing behind his eyes, a force seeking to crush his will and take control. Only this time, as Tom had told him, resisting – while not exactly easy – was well within the realm of possibility. Mentally, he pushed back, fighting against her like a rabid animal. Physically, he brought the miniature crossbow around and laid the tip of the arrow against her throat.

The Widow gasped, fleeing his mind as the poisoned arrowhead singed her skin.

“No thanks,” Errol said, giving a little nudge with the crossbow that made the Widow back up. “I’m not the slightest bit interested.”

Apparently the Widow was not used to being refused. She turned red with anger (the first color Errol had known her to exhibit other than paleness), and the other eyes on her face twitched maddeningly, showing their whites.

“You humans!” she hissed. “You think you’re so much better than anything else in existence! It’s your arrogance that will be your downfall! It was your filthy brother’s arrogance and ego that led to him being carried off by a roc! I hope it snapped his head off and picked his bones clean! I hope
–
”

She stopped mid-sentence as the ground in front of her exploded upwards, covering her with a shower of dirt. She looked at Errol in fury, noting that, while he still held the crossbow, he now held his warding wand in his other hand. He had apparently used the wand to fire a spark into the ground at her feet. He now pointed it directly at her.

“If I were you,” he said calmly, “I would choose my next words with extreme care. Especially if they’re about my brother.”

The Widow, still breathing heavily, did not move or speak, but it was clear that she was enraged beyond words. However, after staring unblinkingly at each other for a few moments, Errol became convinced that she wouldn’t do anything foolish. He relaxed his guard slightly, taking his eyes off her for a second as he casually shifted position and put away his wand. It was a nigh-fatal error.

He heard a sound like a hacking cough, and as he turned to the Widow, she spat at him. A huge glob of something like greenish-yellow phlegm flew at him, and Errol flung himself off his horse to avoid it. It sailed through the exact spot where he’d been sitting in the saddle, directly across the horse’s back, and hit the ground with a splat. It didn’t scorch the ground like the saliva of the basilisk, but Errol had no doubt that it was poisonous.

Angrily, he looked for the Widow but she was already disappearing around the corner of the house, seemingly headed for the door of her cabin. Errol took off after her.

She was faster than he anticipated. Moreover, she didn’t have particularly far to go. Thus, it was no surprise that she reached the door long before Errol could catch her. She raced inside and slammed it shut with a degree of force that was surprising.

In his discussions with Tom about the White Widow, his brother had imparted several rules of engagement that had to be observed. Aside from not looking her in the eye (which Errol broke in almost record time), you always had to keep your guard up around her. Always have a weapon ready and in your hand. Never show fear.

Nevertheless, 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.

All of this flitted through Errol’s mind as he raised his foot, kicked the cabin door open like a battering ram, and stepped inside.

Chapter 6

The interior of the cabin was eerily dark, and for the first time Errol took note of the fact that there were no windows. Aside from what was entering through the doorway he’d just forced open, the only available light came from several low-burning candles. Still, it was enough to allow him to take stock of his surroundings and reach an immediate conclusion: the place was a house of horrors.

The cabin itself was just one huge room, although it did contain a number of geometrically-spaced wooden columns obviously meant to support the roof. Much of the interior was webbed, with thick gossamer strings all around. The desiccated husks of various animals and – shockingly – people lay strewn about the floor. And against the back of the cabin, webbed in the middle of the wall so that his feet couldn’t even touch the ground, was a man.

The poor fellow was webbed so thoroughly that only his head was visible. It was no one that Errol knew, but the man’s skull was little more than skin and bone, so drawn and shrunken that Errol would have presumed him dead had not the man’s head lolled to the side as he moaned.

Perched on the wall near what was presumably the man’s webbed thigh sat a fat, bloated, hairy spider. The thing was huge – about the size of a bloodhound – and it was obviously feeding. Spooked by Errol’s entrance, it turned towards him, and he was shocked to see that it had a human face. (Or humanoid, rather, since it had the same multiple eyes and fangs as the Widow when she shed her human appearance.) Then he saw at least two more of the little monsters shuffling about on the floor.

Errol noted all of this in the first few seconds after he entered the cabin. 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 behind him. All semblance of humanity had vanished from her face.

“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-balanced, and almost staggered into a huge web spun between two columns.

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!”

At that, Errol heard a furious scuttling sound off to the side; one of the human-headed spiders was rushing angrily towards him, a fierce sound coming from its mouth that seemed like a cross between a snake trying to sing and a cat choking on a bone. Errol shot it in the abdomen with the crossbow.

With the Wendigo arrowhead on its tip, the bolt passed through the little monster almost like nothing was there and sank into the wood of the cabin floor with a solid thunk.

“My child!” the Widow screamed as the young monster, its innards leaking out of the hole made by the arrow, let out an agonizing wail. It then began convulsing madly – apparently the work of the poison from the basilisk – before flopping over onto its back, legs twitching.

The Widow, forgetting about Errol, raced over to where her offspring lay dying on the floor. She dropped to her knees beside it, completely dazed.

At the same time, one of the Widow’s other young came scampering across the ceiling in Errol’s direction, hissing in rage. He flung his dagger at it, but the little weirdling hopped to the side just as he released. However, something happened then that shocked Errol as much as anything he’d ever seen in his life: the dagger changed direction in mid-flight, skewering the Widow’s young. Ironically, it fell to the floor beside its dead sibling, almost hitting its mother in the head.

Still in shock, the Widow looked at the body of her second child in disbelief. Then she lifted her head and let out an ear-piercing scream that sounded like a banshee giving birth to an octopus covered in barbs. She cradled the monsters to her chest, wailing.

Rambling slowly across the floor towards her came the third and last of her brood. Out of bolts for his crossbow and with his dagger still imbedded in the other young spider-monster, Errol pulled out his warding wand, the end of which suddenly lit up like a shooting star.

The light attracted the Widow’s attention. A look of horror came over her face and – dropping her dead offspring – she flung herself between Errol and her last surviving child.

“Enough, Warden,” she said, pleadingly. “Enough. I apologize for provoking you without cause.”

Errol said nothing. Everything had happened so fast that he really hadn’t had time to think; for the most part, he had just reacted.

“
Please
,” she almost screeched. “Leave me my last little one, and I shall do all that you ask concerning your brother. Moreover, I will consider the pact unbreached.”

Errol felt awful. Apparently even monsters loved their children, and in just a few seconds he had robbed the Widow of two of hers. He was about to say something sympathetic when the man who was webbed against the wall suddenly moaned. With that, all thoughts of sympathy vanished as Errol suddenly realized that this wasn’t a human being he was dealing with but horror given physical form.

Interpreting Errol’s glance at the webbed man as interest, the Widow made a last-ditch appeal. “You may take the man as well, although I would not advise it.”

Frowning but still wary, he walked towards the Widow’s two dead children. Keeping her body between Errol and her surviving offspring, the Widow took a few steps back and then made a clicking sound, and the last little monster shot across the cabin and disappeared into a hole in the floor that Errol hadn’t noticed before.

Stopping in front of the dead bodies, Errol bent down and retrieved his arrow from the floor. It came up easily, but was nauseatingly slick with gore. He put away his warding wand and then pulled his dagger free of the body that held it. As soon as he touched it, a jolt shot through him – a sensation of strength, vigor, and confidence. The Widow’s eyes went wide when she saw the blade.

“That dagger,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

Errol didn’t deign to answer the question, just turned and walked towards the back wall. He didn’t even spare the Widow, who flinched as he walked past her, a glance. He stopped next to the webbed man, then slid the dagger vertically down the webs holding him. The strands parted like water, and the man fell forward, causing Errol to perform an impromptu juggling act: he simultaneously dropped the arrow and sheathed his dagger before reaching out lightning-quick to catch the man before he hit the floor.

Errol lowered the man to the ground, noting that he wore nothing but a ragged pair of pants. Like his head, the rest of the man was emaciated beyond belief. He was so light that Errol barely felt his weight at all, and his ribs protruded prominently – all of his bones did, in fact. In truth, the only part of him that didn’t appear to be completely skeletal was his stomach, which actually stuck out in a round little mound that seemed to move, shifting around like a couple of children playing under a blanket.

Oh no…

The man grimaced in pain as the activity in his stomach seemed to reach a fever pitch. The man arched his back, gave an anguished cry of pain, and then was still. At the same time, his stomach extended farther and farther out until it split like a seam, starting at his navel.

Already knowing what was happening, Errol retrieved his arrow and stepped back. At the same time, the Widow came over and stood next to him. A look of rapture was on her face as she watched the first of her new brood – another human-headed spider creature, covered in blood and entrails – climb from the man’s belly. The Widow bent down and picked it up lovingly, kissing it. Errol felt like he was going to be sick.

All in all, six of the hideous little monsters came out of the man’s corpse, scuttling around and mewling like hungry kittens. By the time the last one was out, Errol was at the door, eager to depart. His hand on the door handle, he turned back towards the Widow, who was busy coddling her new set of young.

“One thing before I go,” he said. “The pact is altered now. You will eat no more humans, nor use them for propagation. And Wardens are free to enter and leave your cabin in safety.”

She seemed on the verge of protesting, but then cast a glance at her two dead children.

“So be it,” she said with a nod.

Errol exited the cabin, closing the door behind him. As he headed to his horse, it occurred to him that the admonition against entering the Widow’s cabin was less about protecting one’s life and more about preserving one’s sanity.