The Last Praetorian

by Christopher Anderson

  Safe at last, Tarion tried to remove the head. Try as he might, he couldn’t get it off his shoulder. The jaws were stuck fast—frozen in death. There was nothing for it. He staggered back to the inn with the monstrosity sprouting from his shoulder like a horrifying second head.

  “Oh this will be grand; it’s gotten so a man can’t take a quiet walk with a ghost anymore!” Grimly, Tarion sloshed up the steps and squeezed through the door. There were gasps from the patrons and then silence. People stared at him; he ignored them and shouldered his way straight to the bar.

  “Two tankards of ale, Furge, one for me and one for my friend,” he told the giant, indicating the severed head.

  The giant stared at him.

  Hrolf ran up to him. “By the Gods man, what are you doing, wrestling sea dragons in November?”

  “Not by choice, I assure you. Furge was right; the sea is somewhat more active than usual.” Hrolf led him to the fire and sat him down in the nearest empty chair.

  “Ho, Aubrey, fetch me something hot and a blanket! Furge, come help pry this thing off his shoulder!” Aubrey bustled off to get the blanket and the giant stumped across the bar. He took the creature’s head in his huge fists. The jaws creaked grotesquely, parting with the wet snap of bone.

  “Thanks Furge,” Tarion said, rubbing his shoulder.

  The giant cocked a bushy brow and scratched his head. “Say, you wouldn’t mind if I roasted the meat from the neck would you? It’s mighty good right off the bone.”

  “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks!” Furge was pleased, spitting the creature’s head and placing it over the fire. He used a bellow to fan the flames, but so eager was he that sparks flew out, swirling around Tarion. The giant chuckled, waving his huge hands in front of the fire in a vain attempt to shield Tarion from the waves of heat, sparks and smoke. “Sorry!”

  Tarion grimaced. It was hot, but after the cold of the sea, that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  Aubrey plied a hot cup of broth in his hands and Hrolf wrapped a blanket around him, but most of the rest of the patrons eyed him darkly. It was clear that they considered his adventure proof that dark times were ahead. He was to blame.

  Completely unaware of her patrons antagonism, although if she’d known of it she wouldn’t have cared, Aubrey starting drying Tarion off. Tarion endured a flash of guilt—she was as young as Minerva was—but he couldn’t help enjoy the girl.

  “My look at you Tarion; you’re so serious!” she complained. “What is it, am I too boring for you?”

  “I would say no,” Tarion said. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, what with giants, dragons and sea serpents chasing after me—not to mention what your patrons want to do to me.”

  “Well let’s change the subject. I never discuss serious matters lest they delve worry lines on my radiant face!”

  Tarion chuckled at Aubrey’s irrepressible humor. “You shouldn’t waste that radiant beauty on me, Aubrey. The younger, less haunted men of Trondheim will be getting jealous.”

  “Let them do what they will,” she said. “I owe you as much attention as you can stomach, Tarion. Therefore, since I’m not on the menu—yet—you deserve all my charms.”

  “Aubrey, I’m old enough to be your father; I’m maimed; I’m a wanderer; and I’ve a terribly grim effect on everyone I meet or haven’t you noticed?”

  Aubrey ran her fingers through his hair, saying, “It’s true that at first glance you seem a bit grim. Still the proof is in the pudding, as they say. Daring deeds are a girl’s dream. First you slew Gaurnothax and then this sea dragon—or are you going to try and wheedle your way out of that as well?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and cooed. “Two dragons in a day; it’s enough to set a girl all a flutter!”

  “How did you find out about Gaurnothax?”

  “Well, I suppose I must tell you the horrible truth: father can’t keep a secret!” She saw Tarion groan. She patted him on the chest. “You can’t blame it all on my father though. The captain of the evening watch just showed up. He’s been telling the story about you and the giants. He knew about Gaurnothax. He’s telling the tale to anyone who will buy him ale!”

  Indeed, she pointed across the tavern to where the captain was at a table surrounded by listeners. Tarion couldn’t help but notice a large man in a yellow cloak glancing darkly at him. The man left the captain’s company and headed across toward Tarion’s side of the tavern.

  “Now father won’t tell me the particulars,” Aubrey continued. “Don’t leave me in the dark. Tell me everything, all the gory details, we maidens like that you know.”

  Tarion’s visage sobered and he told her, “Now Aubrey!”

  “Oh please Tarion!” she insisted, throwing hers arms around his neck.

  “Ho, pretty Aubrey, you should heed your elders!” a harsh voice said. A pair of huge hands clasped her waist and lifted her clear off the floor. Tarion leapt up in surprise to see man in the yellow cloak. He was much larger up close—almost a giant. He held Aubrey aloft as if she was a babe.

  “If this little gray-mane tells you he’d rather not talk then you should listen to him. He obviously has his reasons for silence. My guess is it’s a fairy’s tale and therefore difficult to expand upon! Yet if your mortal friend wishes to wear a larger size hat than his head warrants, then let him earn it. Don’t be so selfish, father, we might all wish to hear so unlikely a tale!”

  “Koth, unhand me, you ruffian!” she ordered.

  “Frisky tonight, aren’t we?” the gyran laughed. Koth grinned at Tarion, saying, “Have a seat, gray mane, you don’t want to go tangling with me! There’s no use spilling your blood on the planks of a Norse tavern!”

  Tarion growled, “You heard the lady; let her be, instantly!”

  Koth laughed again and tossed the girl roughly aside. With a gap toothed grin, he said, “Don’t get your gray hairs all in a dander, little-father. That’s what you get when you lie. What were you thinking? Did you figure you could charm pretty Aubrey out of her dress with talk of amazing adventures?”

  Tarion said nothing. He turned away from the gyran and helped Aubrey up.

  “Aren’t you going to do anything?” Aubrey asked.

  “Do I need to? After all, I’ve slain two dragons today!” he told her in a low growl. Tarion felt his guts contract in pain. The gyran pushed him toward confrontation, but every time that happened, things got worse. Even when he won, he lost. He gritted his teeth and said lamely, “I’ve killed enough for one day. He’s a fool and an ass; I can’t change that. Let it go Aubrey.”

  Aubrey’s face softened. She nodded, “You’re right Tarion, you don’t need to prove anything to me or to any of these people.”

  However, Koth wouldn’t leave it alone. “What’s the matter gray mane? Too much bluff and not enough iron, I say!”

  Tarion felt cold and dead. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t intimidated. He was simply tired of the games, the confrontation and the hidden possibilities.

  “I’m talking to you, gray mane!”

  “Don’t do it boy,” he said, but his voice was almost a whisper. The volcano was growing in his belly and he couldn’t stop it.

  Koth’s hand closed on his shoulder.

  Whatever it was that held Tarion’s temper in check snapped—again.

  Tarion spun around, knocking the gyran’s hand from his shoulder and striking out with his right arm. The silver-capped stump hit Koth under his ribs. The gyran grunted in pain from the blow and swung his huge ham-fist at Tarion’s head. Tarion ducked under it and stepped to the gyran’s side. He’d fought giants of many clans before, so the gyran was like tackling an adolescent—hardly even an afterthought. He punched the gyran in the kidney—a very sensitive spot for their race. Koth winced. Fury took him and he instinctively reached for Tarion, seeking to grapple the smaller man and bring his prodigious strength to bear. Tarion expected this.

  Koth bent over and crouched. Tarion ducked behind him and as Koth whirled it gave Tarion
the opportunity he needed. Using the gyran’s momentum against him, Tarion grabbed the gyran’s belt and stomped his boot against Koth’s instep. The gyran tripped clumsily over Tarion’s foot as the small man threw him by his belt. Koth tumbled clumsily to the floor. Seething in rage, he sought to rise, but Tarion was on his back. He clutched Koth’s long black ponytail and drew his head back. Snick! The wrist blade sprang forth; its sharp edge pressed against the gyran’s neck. Koth froze.

  “Where are your words now lad? Care to retract your lie, or would you have it known that you died by the weathered hand of a maimed wanderer?” He pulled the gyran’s head back even farther. “It’s up to you, Koth, but I advise you to choose carefully—something Gaurnothax did not! Your fate is your own, but not for long. What do you say, lad, why don’t I hear you speak?”

  Koth cursed, and told him, “You had better kill me now; because once I get up I’ll cut off your privates for this! Then I’ll lash you to the prow of my ship and let the waves break you for a few days. When your whining bores me, I’ll bring you up and flay you alive!”

  “Brave words for a coward with a knife at his throat,” Tarion said. He drew the blade away and got off Koth. Tarion thrust his way through the crowd, heading for the door.

  “Coward!” Koth shouted, following at his heels.

  Tarion needed to get out of the crowded tavern before anyone else got hurt. Putting his shoulder to the door, he burst through, nearly wrenching it off the hinges. He ran into the street, drawing his sword.

  Koth was right behind him. The gyran leapt from the porch, his scimitar in both brawny hands. He brought it down in a whistling, killing blow. Tarion met the stroke by crossing his knife and sword. Steel clashed on iron, ringing in the air and sparks flew.

  Tarion stopped Koth cold.

  Locked in pure animal fury, the two combatants pushed and stamped like bulls. Around them, a crowd gathered. People yelled and screamed, made bets and watched with morbid fascination. The children were no strangers to the violence of the world and they joined in, the smaller ones climbing on their parent’s shoulders to get a better view of the fight.

  Koth cursed in Tarion’s face, soiling him with a flurry of foul language and rotten breath. Tarion didn’t answer. The rising tide of anger enveloped him in a cold unfeeling cloak. With intimidating intent, he slowly shoved the hulking gyran down the street. Koth cursed as Tarion sent him stumbling back. The crowd parted, gasping at Tarion’s display of strength. Koth couldn’t believe it either. He cursed at the wizardry that was obviously defeating him.

  “Just you wait until I catch my breath gray mane; I’ll gut you with my bare hands!”

  Tarion didn’t allow him to recover. He attacked the gyran, savagely swinging away in swift figure eights with the sword and stabbing with the knife. Koth parried desperately, but in a few moments, his arms and torso were awash in blood from numerous slashes. The gyran was overmatched and he knew it. He backed away until his heel caught the curb of the street and he tumbled into a snow bank dazed and bleeding.

  Tarion crossed his sword and knife, pinning Koth’s neck between the blades. “Yield and this can end now. I banish you from Hrolf’s house! Give me your oath to never again trouble his daughter and you can leave with your life.” He looked the gyran in the eye. “You should know, Koth, Gaurnothax refused to yield when I gave him the choice. Don’t make that same mistake. What say you?”

  Koth sighed and it seemed as if he was about to yield, but a great shudder ran through his huge body. He thrashed around as if fighting something within himself. Strange sounds came from his mouth. He began to slaver and champ. To Tarion’s horror, Koth’s eyes boiled and burst, revealing dull black orbs lit with red fire. The Gyran’s swarthy flesh split and a horny carapace pushed through. Horns sprang from his skull. The thing roared at Tarion and a green fog spewed forth, foul with the stench of decay. Tarion reeled back in disgust.

  This new creature wore the tattered corpse of Koth like a tunic. It sprang at Tarion with speed beyond mortal muscles, slapping Tarion’s sword aside and striking him across the face. Tarion flew down the street landing hard on the cobblestones. By the time he rolled to his feet, it was upon him with Koth’s scimitar raised for a killing blow.

  The blade wailed through the cold night air, but Tarion ducked beneath it and rolled forward onto his knee, swinging his sword into the thing’s side while he stabbed it in the belly with his wrist-blade. Green blood and entrails spewed onto the ground, but the thing only laughed—a horrible deep giddy sound. It grabbed Tarion by the hair and pulled him close, spitting foul burning fumes in his face.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that, mortal,” it said in a strange unearthly voice. It laughed again and butted its horny forehead into Tarion’s temple.

  Tarion fell back. His eyes watered with a sudden, blinding pain and he stumbled away, warding off the thing’s savage attacks more by feel than by sight. Back across the slippery uneven cobbles he retreated. Now he was on the defensive.

  A flash of blue caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, Tarion a sapphire globe roll by his feet. Loki! Was the sorcery the Devil-God’s doing? He risked a quick glance back, but the distraction cost him. The flat of the scimitar bounced on his skull. Stars flashed within his eyes.

  The crowd gasped. Through blinking eyes, Tarion saw a shimmering black hole open in the wall. The monster locked with him and forced him toward it.

  Tarion dropped to his knee in desperation, bracing his boots against the stone on either side of the portal. The thing loomed over him; it was only a question of whether it drove him through the hole or into the ground.

  “Come to me!” said a voice behind him, lower than the deeps of the sea, deeper than the core of the world. It was the Destructor!

  Horror gripped him. With the strength of final desperation, Tarion braced his left arm with the stump of his right and swung his right leg up. Bracing his left boot Tarion exploded into the monster, ramming it with his shoulder. The thing took a step back and Tarion followed it, savagely hacking away with all his might. It replied in kind. The crowd roared. The clash of their weapons was so loud the Norse covered their ears.

  The monster backed slowly away, biding its time, wearing Tarion down. How was he to end the fight? He’d already dealt the thing a mortal blow.

  “Koth is dead and this will not end until I’m slain or this thing is disarmed!”

  There it was—the answer.

  Tarion deflected several more attacks before he saw an opening. He feinted, batted the demon’s scimitar aside and turned with a backhanded strike at the left knee. The edge of the sword clove through bone and chitin and the demon staggered.

  In one swift motion, Tarion slashed one of Koth’s hands off at the wrist. The scimitar clattered to the pavement with the hand still clutching the haft. Then he slashed the other hand off. Tarion stepped back to see the monster’s reaction, but the thing simply laughed, ignoring the hideous wounds. Claw-like hands burst from the stumps and the thing lurched on, reaching for him. Tarion stepped aside and struck the tattered, hideous head from its shoulders. The gory misshapen thing rolled down the cobblestones and off the quay, falling with a soft plop into the river.

  The corpse stood there, headless, quivering.

  Tarion slipped behind it. With a push from his boot, he sent it into the mystic hole. The edges flared in flame. There was the sound of rushing wind and the bloody body disappeared.

  Loki! Where was he? Tarion scanned the crowd. The hawk-eyed Devil-God skulked behind Augga. Tarion leapt after him. People got out of his way as if Tarion were on fire. Loki tried to turn himself into a hawk but Tarion grabbed the feathered form with his free hand and held the wrist-blade at the bird’s throat. Loki promptly turned back into his mortal form. “Tell me, Loki, what is it that’s going to keep me from killing you this time?”

  “Destiny!” smiled Loki with a shrug. “I’m still one of the Gods. You can’t forget that!”


  “You can, it seems,” Tarion said, “but as for me, I’m just a short tempered Praetorian cursed by your master! I owe you nothing!”

  He dragged Loki to the portal and threw him in.

  Chapter 16: The Destructor Takes Wing

  Naugrathur watched with a mix of frustration and amusement as Tarion propelled Loki through the portal and face first into the gooey mess that was Koth. Loki tried to pick himself up from the grotesque corpse, but Naugrathur put the heel of his boot on the Trickster’s head and pushed it back into the jelly.

  “You failed me, Loki and verily shall I judge you!” he growled, his voice colder than Navernya’s heart.

  “Pray understand, Dread Lord, Tarion was stronger than I guessed,” Loki gasped, as the warm innards of his servant oozed into his nose and mouth. He spat out the goo, sputtering, “Balthazar, you are fouler in death than life!” He craned his lanky neck to see the Destructor. “Yet truly, my most gracious and understanding Dread Lord, Tarion is the most potent mortal in the world today. We cannot yet discount the possibility that he is possessed by the Wanderer even as his father was. If the Wanderer is lending Tarion his strength how can I expect to triumph when I am set against a foe so close in immensity to you?”

  The Destructor’s mighty head tilted to one side, pleased with the logic of Loki’s excuse, but still of a mind to crush the duke as an example to all. He admitted, “That is a fair explanation for my vanity—if only I had any. Still, there’s a grain of truth in your groveling.” He took his heel from Loki’s head and clasped his hands behind his back, looking down at the Trickster. “Can I trust you, Loki; you were one of the Gods—as you just reminded Tarion.”