The Last Protector (9 page)

Scrornuck stood for a moment, admiring the patterns of light that rippled across the enormous blade, then gently relaxed his grip and watched it vanish. He took a few steps in pursuit, but as he expected, when he reached the corner there was no sign of the Master.

"It only works for you?” Nalia asked.

Scrornuck handed her the sword-grip. “Try it."

She concentrated, squeezed carefully, closed her eyes, moved her fingers, and after a minute's struggle caused a few inches of something dull and limp to dangle from the sword's iron stub-blade. “I give up,” she said.

"You did as well as Jape,” Scrornuck said. “And he spent a few hours trying. Like the Master said, Ol’ Red only works for me.” He sat up and reached for another beer. “Now it's your turn. You must know some good yarns."

"I'm afraid not.” He could hear the disappointment in her voice. “There are a few exciting stories from the old days, when Spafu was making the world, but since then it's been pretty dull. The sun comes up, the sun goes down, we practice, we hold our festivals and celebrations, we wait...” She sighed, low and long. “I don't want to go killing people or chopping heads off, but I wish I could do
something
exciting."

"Wasn't last night pretty exciting?"

"That was just a bar fight."

"Seven against one."

"I was pretty good, wasn't I?” She smiled. “But that bar fight wasn't
about
anything—it was just some snot who didn't understand the word ‘no.’ There are a dozen fights like that every Saturday night. You and Jape talk about mind reading and saving the world..."

"I thought you were just pretending to believe us."

"Maybe I'd like to believe you. I'd like to believe that I'm doing something more important than fighting off a jerk like Leondo. I'd like to have a real adventure."

"Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes these so-called adventures just plain suck. They start out all full of excitement and glory, and then they turn real nasty.” He snapped his fingers, and she jumped a little. “Just like that. More than once I've wished my life was a little less of an adventure."

"Well,
I'd
still like to have a big adventure."

He pulled at his beard thoughtfully. “Keep your eyes open, then. Who knows what we'll find in the morning?"

Sometime during Scrornuck's story, the light went out in Jape's tent, and soon the forest was disturbed by a steady buzz-saw snoring. “I see why you put the tents so far apart,” Nalia said with a laugh. “How long have you had to sleep with that racket?"

"Three years, more or less."

"Three years.” She looked at the sky thoughtfully. “What are you going to do when you're done?"

"Done?"

She nodded. “Seems to me that someday the world will be saved from all those ‘mistakes’ and Jape won't need protecting any more. Then what?"

"I guess he'll go home. He's got a wife and kids that he hasn't seen in years."

"And you?"

"Never thought about it.” He stretched, yawned, took another swallow of that excellent black beer and wondered just what he would do if he weren't a Protector. “Maybe find a nice place to settle down, someplace with nice weather, good beer, good songs, pleasant company. But I suspect that's a long time away. In the meantime, my home's right here—I have my sword, and I have someone to protect. What more home do I need?"

"I'd feel weird if I didn't have a real home.” She yawned. “I think I'll call it a night."

"Want some music to help you drift off?"

"Sure."

He opened a small, battered leather case and assembled a simple bagpipe: a cloth-covered bag, blowpipe, chanter pipe and a single stock containing two small drones. When he slipped the blowpipe into his mouth and started to play, the instrument made an awful shriek, loud enough to interrupt Jape's snoring.

Nalia covered her ears. “It sounds like you're pulling a cat's tail!"

"Sorry,” Scrornuck said, “dry reeds. I haven't been playing lately.” He spent a few minutes sucking on the reeds and adjusting the instrument until it produced a soft, mellow tone. Closing his eyes, he played a slow, wandering melody, one that was haunting and a touch melancholy, but most of all relaxing. Jape's snoring resumed its even rhythm, and Nalia slowly rocked in time to the song.

"Boy, that worked,” she said, slowly getting up. “I'm really sleepy now."

He escorted her to her tent, and after she was settled in for the night he returned to his blanket to play his pipes a little more and contemplate Nalia's question.
What will you do when Jape's done saving the world?
He'd always assumed that as Jape's Protector he'd meet a heroic, if gruesome, end: eaten by some monster, executed by some warlord, killed in a noble battle. Life after Jape was a new idea, one he'd have to think about.

But not tonight. He drained the last swig from his beer, set the bottle on the ground and watched. The empty turned from clear to white, collapsed into a small heap of powder, and drifted away on the gentle breeze. He'd probably never understand how these Batatat's bottles worked—how did the bottle know he'd finished the beer?—but he loved them just the same. Living in Taupeaquaah means never having to ditch the empties, he thought happily. Duels that end with first blood instead of first killed, rules against harming the guests, and the beer ain't half bad, either. Yeah, I'm getting to like this place. With one more glance at the sky, just in case those dragons far overhead turned out to be something other than ornaments, he dropped into a light sleep.

[Back to Table of Contents]

"Yagghh!” Nalia gasped, sticking her head out of her tent and sniffing the air, “what is that?"

"Shhh.” Scrornuck removed the bubbling pot from the fire and decanted its foul-smelling brown contents into a cup. “Watch this.” He set the cup in front of Jape's tent.

Jape's snoring broke into a snort, then a sniff, and the tent door opened slightly. Two trembling hands appeared and pulled the cup inside. From the tent's interior came sounds of slurping, followed by a delighted cry, “Where did you get this?” Jape's head appeared in the tent door, and he clutched the cup like a starving man who'd just been handed a steak. “Coffee-coffee-coffee-coffee-coffee!"

Scrornuck topped off the cup, and Jape disappeared into his tent again. “What the...” Nalia asked.

"Finest Brazilian roast coffee. It's hard to find, but I like to surprise him now and then."

"He drinks that stuff?” She winced at the thought. “It smells like..."

"Crap. Looks, smells and tastes like it, as far as I'm concerned. But he likes it. Says it's a really potent wake-up juice.” As if to demonstrate, Jape emerged from his tent, dressed and ready to face the day. Scrornuck held up the pot and looked at Nalia. “Try some?"

"I think I'll stick with tea.” She wrinkled her nose. “That stuff's giving me a headache."

So Scrornuck made Nalia some tea, and then threw a heap of breakfast sausages into the frying-pan. She sighed contentedly as she took a deep whiff of the spicy aroma. “Now
that's
what morning is supposed to smell like."

Over a hearty breakfast and a second cup of coffee, Jape explained the puzzle of the forest trail. “I think I've figured it out. The trees release into the soil something that's poisonous to the grass on the path, and the grass releases a substance that's poisonous to the trees. So the trees don't grow where there's grass—"

"—and the grass won't grow where there are trees,” Nalia finished.

Jape nodded. “Exactly. And on the border, where the two secretions mix, you find the little yellow flower, which needs both of those poisons to survive."

"Still sounds like magic to me,” Scrornuck said.

"Just technology.” Jape sipped his coffee, looking very satisfied with himself. “Some very clever people made this place."

"You mean Spafu's Helpers?” she asked.

"Whatever.” Jape drained his coffee and held out the cup. “Mister Saughblade, do we have any more?"

"A bit.” Scrornuck picked up the pot and stretched to reach Jape's cup without getting up.

"What's this?” Nalia said, pulling back the torn-off sleeve of his stained red shirt to expose a flaming-snake tattoo. “I didn't know you were a Snaker."

"A what?"

"A Snaker, a follower of the Great Feathered Serpent? I dated a Snaker once, and he had a tattoo a lot like this.” Curious, she pulled the shirt back further, following the tattoo onto his shoulder. “Not this big, though. How far does it go?"

"Far enough,” he said, gently removing her hand. “But it's just a tattoo, sort of a souvenir of a past life. I'm no snake worshiper.” He got to his feet in a way that he hoped would signal the end to the discussion. “Let's get going, we've got a big day ahead."

They spent the next several minutes cleaning up and loading their gear into the backpack. Then he let the boots lift him into the treetops, where he hung the pack between some branches, safe from hungry animals and prying eyes.

When he returned to earth, he found Nalia holding his armored jacket, turning it over in her hands and stroking the fabric curiously. “Like it?” he asked.

"Yeah.” The sleeveless jacket was made of gray fabric trimmed in black leather, stained and patched in many places, laced up the sides and closed by a row of buckles in the front. Soft, flexible armor made of a bright-red fabric covered the chest and shoulders. She squeezed a shoulder-guard. “It's so light! What is this stuff?"

"Ballistics fabric,” Jape said. “High-shear-strength polymer, self-rigidizing viscoelastic energy-damping foam..."

"Magic stuff, he's trying to say,” Scrornuck said. “Here, let me show you.” He slipped his forearm through the jacket's armhole. “Take your sword and give it a whack.” Nalia tapped the shoulder-guard gently with the flat of her sword, leaving no mark on the fabric. “No,” he said. “Give it a real whack."

She swung harder, edge-first, and practically dropped her sword as it bounced off the jacket, again leaving no mark. “Ouch! It's hard as a rock!"

"Told you it's magic—the stuff's soft until it gets hit and then it gets tough as iron."

On impulse, she slipped the jacket on. It was tight, so tight she couldn't get it closed. “Ugh, a bit small.” She took a close look at Scrornuck and grinned. “You really are pretty skinny,” she said with a laugh. “If I'd been looking more closely Saturday night, I might have tried to rescue you!"

"Yeah,” Scrornuck said sullenly. She'd touched a sore spot. While he did heroic things, he knew he didn't look much like a hero—too tall, too slim, not much of a chin. Far too many people dismissed him as nothing more than a skinny boy, and now it seemed Nalia was doing the same...

Jape's voice interrupted the self-pity party. “C'mon, Mister Saughblade, you shouldn't be so touchy. Most people would be happy to be as slender as you.” He patted his own small-but-present belly. “I know I would."

"I'm sorry,” Nalia said, gently taking his hand. “I didn't mean to insult you."

"It's okay.” Scrornuck's voice carried little conviction. “I know I'm not a big hunk..."

"So what?” she said. “Muscles aren't everything. Hell, the Acolyte I dated was dumb as a post. All he could talk about was how much he lifted and how many reps he did. I was bored stiff by our second date. You're fun to be around, you know stories and songs, and you kicked ass on those guys the other night. So what if you're skinny? You're still a major hunk to me!” She stood on tiptoes and gave him a little kiss. It was just a polite, innocent peck on the cheek—but it was enough to make him break out in an ear-to-ear grin.

"Careful,” Jape said. “I think somebody likes you."

"You got a problem with that?” With a big smile on his face, Scrornuck put on his jacket and set off down the trail, whistling happily.

"So this is the ‘Executive Palace'?” Scrornuck said. “They ought to call it the ‘Executive Dump'!” The building they'd reached after a few hours of pleasant walking through the forest was an incomplete, crumbling ruin. Three of its four wings had no roof, merely bare, moss-draped rafters. Bas-reliefs of foam plastic
faux
stone clung weakly to the decaying walls, held in place as much by the vines that covered the building as by fasteners. Chunks of the cheap material lay on the grass, some awaiting installation, others already fallen from the walls. The windows of the building's one completed section were broken, much of the roof had caved in and a few small trees grew through holes in the imitation thatch. The fake-stone of the windowless first floor, intended to suggest a most impressive castle, looked more like dissolving papier-mâché after the century of neglect.

Scrornuck kept one hand on his sword-grip as the three circled the building, though he saw no danger beyond Jape's tripping over his own feet as he tried to walk and watch his rings at the same time. “There's something in there all right,” Jape said, pointing to a ring on his left hand, whose purple jewel flickered faintly. “That's it."

"Sure that's not me?” Nalia asked.

"I thought you didn't believe you're a mind reader."

"You're paying me to pretend I believe, remember?"

"Ah.” Jape pointed to another ring, whose blue jewel flickered more brightly than the purple one. “This is you,” he said. He pointed again to the purple ring. “And this is whatever's inside. It may not be a person, or even alive—all I know for sure is that it gives off some of the same energies a mind reader does, along with some different energies. What it is, we won't know until we find it."

"You make it sound dangerous,” she said, shivering a little despite the late-morning warmth.

Scrornuck shrugged. “What's the worst that can happen?"

"A mind-eating monster could suck our brains out?"

"He'd starve to death on mine."

"Which means you should go first,” Jape concluded.

Scrornuck strode to the door and shouted, “Anybody in there?” A few startled birds took off through holes in the roof. “I guess we won't be interrupting anybody.” He pulled the big iron ring on the center of the door, and the rotted wood disintegrated in a shower of splinters and dust. “Honey, I'm home!” he shouted, stepping inside.