Free Warden by Kevin Hardman

a moment, eyeing each other. Prap, practically out of breath, seemed startled at having lost this round, while Errol fought to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up into a grin. Satisfied that he had proven himself, Errol lowered his knife and took a step back. He turned around, preparing to gather up all the weapons he’d brought over and carry them back to the Station House.
    Unexpectedly, there was a roar behind Errol, a primitive sound of unpenned wrath and rage. He spun around to find Prap with a crazed look in his eye, bringing his sword down in Errol’s direction in a powerful, two-handed overhead stroke.
    Errol didn’t think; he just reacted. Later, he would realize that the stroke hadn’t been meant to harm him. It had been intended to come close – Prap’s method of frightening him under the guise of teaching him not to turn his back on an opponent – but not touch him at all.
    Errol, however, knew none of this at the time; he only saw what he perceived to be a sincere and deadly attack. Instinctively, he raised his Wendigo dagger up and outward in order to block the swordstroke. At the same time, he began to cock his other hand back, a preamble to throwing the knife he still held.
    Errol felt the impact as sword and dagger connected. The sound of the two weapons striking was like a gong, ringing out and echoing around the two fighters. Something thunked into the ground a few feet away from them, but Errol didn’t dare look away for a second.
    The business end of Prap’s sword crossed Errol’s line of sight as it continued its downward trajectory, but it was nowhere near close enough to do him harm. Errol barely paid attention to it. Instead, he was watching Prap, who had gone bug-eyed and appeared to almost be in shock. It was that look on his face – and that look alone – that had kept Errol from putting his throwing knife into the man.
    “My…my…my sword,” Prap mumbled, looking at the weapon in his hands.
    Errol risked a glance down, and saw what had startled Prap so badly.
    The last six inches of Prap’s sword was gone.

 
    Chapter 9
     
    They found the end of Prap’s sword sticking in the ground a yard or two away from where they had fought. Apparently Errol’s dagger had sheared through the longer blade at the point where they had made contact.
    After realizing that Prap hadn’t really been trying to harm him, Errol felt a little badly for the man (but not too badly). From his own experience, Errol knew how easy it was to get attached to something like weapons – especially if you depended on them for your life, like Wardens did. Ergo, in an overt effort to smooth things over, Errol offered Prap his pick of swords from the Magnus arsenal as a replacement.
    When they got back to the Station House, Bander was standing on the porch.
    “So, how did he do?” Bander asked.
    For an answer, Prap flung the two pieces of his sword at Bander’s feet and then stomped inside.
    The veteran Warden stared at the pieces in surprise for a moment before commenting. “I’m going to assume that’s a ‘pass’,” he said.
    Errol shrugged, then went inside and put away the weapons he had tested with. Frankly speaking, he didn’t really care what kind of assessment that he received from Prap, because he was convinced that no one in their right mind would take the portly man seriously.
    Next, he went to have breakfast. Thankfully, his guests had left more than an adequate amount for him, so he ate his fill and then washed it down with water that Bander had been kind enough to haul from the well earlier. It wasn’t until after he’d eaten that he realized that he hadn’t seen Till since he’d come back with Prap.
    Bander, relaxing quietly on the porch bench, responded with, “He’s communing,” when Errol approached him and asked after the scribe.
    Errol frowned slightly, reflecting on what that meant. Most people communicated over distances using birds – ravens, crows, and such. It was