The Last Protector

by Daniel C. Starr

  Ranger Deanne turned away, retching violently as the monster dismembered the dead soldier, ripping the tanks from his back and chewing on arms and legs. Then, with blood, fragments of flesh, and flame still clinging to its face, it turned to its tormentors.

  Stuart, encased head-to-toe in his “hazmat” suit, stepped forward, firing his weapon. The explosive charges blew chunks off the monster, making it scream in pain. But the gun was inaccurate, and more than half the shots thudded into the cliff. As his supply of ammunition ran low, Stuart moved in closer, close enough that bits of the creature's blood spattered his suit after each shot. “Looks like it's working,” the Stranger said, in a tone that left Scrornuck with the impression that he was surprised.

  Stuart fired his last few shots into the monster's throat, and the series of explosions blew the creature's head clean off. Propelled by the explosions, the head tumbled end-over-end through the air and landed in the snow about twenty feet away.

  A fountain of blood sprayed from the monster's severed neck, painting the snow a brilliant red and covering Stuart's protective suit, including his helmet's clear faceplate. Momentarily blinded, knowing the monster was practically on top of him, he dropped his weapon and rubbed frantically at his faceplate to restore his vision. At the same time, the monster's body, seemingly able to function without a head, staggered about blindly. Scrornuck found the scene vaguely comic.

  It did not stay that way. Within a few seconds, Stuart and the monster blundered into one another. The beast lifted the warrior, shredding his hazmat suit with those awful claws. It raised him over the stump of its neck, spraying him with still more blood, and with a weary shrug, it impaled the man on the spikes growing from its back. As Stuart writhed and shrieked, the creature resumed its methodical search, its hands groping through the snow.

  The monster found its head, and in a scene that Scrornuck found disturbingly reminiscent of the Knight's trick, simply set it back in place. The bleeding stopped, the skin knit together, and the creature's eyes opened. Keeping its angry red gaze fixed on Scrornuck, the beast reached behind its head and tore Stuart to pieces, throwing arms this way, legs that way, and finally pitching the head at Scrornuck's feet, as if it were some bloody challenge.

  A deep, primitive cry rose in Scrornuck's throat as he drew his sword and charged this abomination, consumed by a desire to chop the beast into as many pieces as he could. Forgetting any concerns about the creature's blood, he took off its head with a single stroke. When the beast reached down for its head, Scrornuck chopped off its arms, and then its legs, and then he methodically hacked its body into smaller and smaller chunks, not stopping until the monstrosity had been reduced to pieces no larger than a man's fist, all of them still alive, wriggling as if trying to put themselves back together.

  "Good work, Mister Saughblade,” the Stranger said. “It appears you've subdued the creature."

  "It's not dead."

  "No, but it'll take a while to put itself back together, and that's quite good enough for our purposes. Now here's what I want you to do."

  As the Stranger calmed the horses, Scrornuck loaded the pieces of the monster, and the few remaining bits of Wallace and Stuart, into the wagon. Then, he opened Wallace's spare cylinder of flammable jelly, spread it on the bloody ground where the battle had taken place, and set it ablaze. He whispered a prayer for the fallen warriors, and climbed into the back of the wagon.

  They made their way up the mountain slowly, reaching the summit shortly before sunset. The wagon rattled and bounced around an outcrop of rock, and Scrornuck found himself staring into a vision of hell. Smoke, steam, the stench of sulfur and withering heat filled the air. Far below, a crater glowed with orange fire.

  When the horses would go no further, the Stranger stopped the wagon and chocked its wheels, leaving it facing away from the pit. As he unhitched the horses and led them away, he pointed to a narrow spine of rock that extended out over the fire. “Can you push the wagon off that? It's important that it go all the way into the fire."

  Scrornuck nodded and got to work. There was a path of sorts, and it was mostly downhill, but it still took the better part of an hour and a half to move boulders out of the way and fill holes and ruts. Sweat ran from his forehead as he worked, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision.

  At last everything was ready. He kicked away the stones chocking the wagon's wheels and wrapped his arms around its steering tongue as it started to roll backwards down the path. The wagon quickly gained speed, and he fought to keep it on the path, dragging his heels in the dirt, struggling with the tongue as it wagged side-to-side like the tail of an over-enthusiastic dog. More than once, he found himself clinging to the tongue for dear life as it swung him out over the fiery crater, only to slap him against the rocks an instant later.

  At the end of the path, an instant before the wagon plunged over the cliff, Scrornuck released the tongue and sprawled face-first in the gravel at the very edge of the abyss. He watched the wagon tumble in the air, spilling its contents as it fell, smoking, then bursting into flame, finally disappearing into the fires in the heart of the mountain.

  "Ugh,” Nalia said. Prompted by Jape's less-than-subtle gestures, Scrornuck had not told all the gruesome details. Nevertheless, she looked a bit green. “You burned the thing up?"

  "Yep. It was the only way to get rid of it."

  She giggled, not a giggle of amusement but the nervous giggle of one who was trying hard not to gag. “This is silly, but all I can think about is how bad it must have smelled."

  "Actually, it smelled pretty good.” He sniffed the air, detecting the sweet aroma of steaks on the grill. “Kind of like supper time!" He hurried to the balcony and saw that the second-floor restaurant overlooking the pool was starting a cookout. “All right!” he cried, pulling on his boots. “I was getting hungry again!"

  Jape pointed to Scrornuck's ratty shirt. “You're really going to wear that rag in public?"

  "I'm following the rules."

  Jape sighed. “All right—but I'm not skipping dinner if they don't let you in."

  "I'll bring you a doggie bag, Fido,” Nalia said, planting a little kiss on Scrornuck's cheek.

  Scrornuck was somewhat surprised when nobody in the restaurant seemed to notice his ragged shirt, let alone complain about it. A passing Guard inspected him for about two seconds while he was loading his plate at the salad bar, but then continued on his rounds without comment. In a way, he found the lack of harassment disappointing. Nevertheless, he returned to the suite to put on something more acceptable—and his armored jacket, just in case—before they set off for the Cast Quarter.

  It seemed a quiet evening. Other than having to shoo away a few curious children who again tried to get a peek beneath Scrornuck's kilt, they crossed Temple Square without incident. A minor acolyte pointed, and a few pilgrims whispered to each other about the heretic who wouldn't sacrifice his splendid boots, but nobody said anything to Scrornuck's face.

  "Where's the High Priest tonight?” Jape asked, glancing back at the unoccupied Temple porch.

  "It's seven o'clock,” Nalia said. “I imagine he's praying for the Gifts of Spafu."

  "What gifts are those?"

  Nalia shot him another one of those looks. “Everything we need. Everything's a gift of the Dragon."

  When they reached Syb's Tavern, they found the hole Scrornuck had cut in the back wall now sported a fine wooden door, and customers were coming and going as though it had been there forever. “No hard feelings, I guess,” Jape said.

  After sniffing and tasting the first round of drinks, “just in case they're poisoned,” Scrornuck found a dim corner from which he could keep his eye on the table where Nalia and Jape met with a succession of unsavory-looking locals. A wide-brimmed hat kept his face in shadow as he nursed a pint of beer and thought, why does the mating dance always take so much longer than the actual coupling? Each interaction ended with the exchange of a silver or gold piece for a slip of paper or s
ome whispered words—why did the preliminaries take so long?

  What's this? The latest local didn't look all that unsavory—in fact, he looked positively respectable. Dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief, fashionably but conservatively attired in new clothing, and wearing jewelry that conveyed a message of wealth without pretense, he looked like he belonged in the Guest part of town. What's he doing in a place where I'm comfortable?

  The stranger whispered something in Jape's ear that seemed to spark some serious excitement. He took a seat and unrolled a document on the tabletop. Scrornuck kept waiting for money to change hands, but Jape's purse never came out, not even when it was time to pay for drinks. Strange, and to Scrornuck, a bit suspicious. Eventually the stranger got up, slowly, as if his legs were stiff from sitting so long, shook hands with both Jape and Nalia, and left.

  Jape signaled it was time for Scrornuck to join him. “I think we've found a great source,” he said.

  "Who was that last guy?” Scrornuck asked.

  "He calls himself Tremmlowe. Of course, who knows what his real name is? What matters is, he has information and connections that can get him more."

  "I don't trust him,” Scrornuck said. “The guy's too well-dressed to be a regular in a dive like this. And he gave you some papers, but you didn't pay him. Doesn't that make you suspicious?"

  "It was a sample, to show the quality of his contacts,” Jape said. “If the document checks out, we'll make a deal on some better stuff tomorrow night."

  "Well, be careful—I remember what happened the last time you found a guy who seemed to know everything and didn't want a penny in return."

  Jape laughed. “You mean deAvalo? Everything he told us was accurate. The spiders weren't poisonous."

  "Yeah.” Scrornuck stuck a finger in Jape's face. “But your buddy forgot to mention they were twelve feet across!"

  "Minor detail. Besides, you were having the time of your life!"

  "Tied up in webs, knee-deep in spider guts, with six more of those things trying to make lunch out of us?” Scrornuck grinned. “Yeah, it was fun, wasn't it?"

  "See, I told you. Now shut up and drink your beer—and that's an order!"

  Scrornuck saluted. “Yes, sir!” He polished off his pint in a single gulp. “Speaking of orders, I hope you ordered more."

  Jape indeed ordered many more, and by the time they left the bar, Scrornuck's smile was more lopsided than usual.

  "I'm amazed you're standing,” Nalia said. “How many did you have?"

  "An even half-dozen, I think.” Scrornuck caught his toe on a cobblestone and spun about to stay upright.

  "And they're not affecting you in the least,” Jape said. “Now straighten up—we're coming to the Square and I don't want you getting into another argument with Rosaiah."

  "Why not? I could crush that pompous ass in the jaws of logic and reason..."

  Nalia giggled. “I don't think you could reason through a ‘knock-knock’ joke."

  "Try me, madam. Make it a really filthy one, please."

  "That's enough,” Jape said sternly. “Low profile, got that?"

  "Aw, you're taking away all my fun..."

  "Mister Saughblade, you will keep out of trouble, understand?"

  "Yes, Ranger,” Scrornuck said meekly.

  As it turned out, there was a major rumble going on at the foot of the Temple steps and everyone was too busy to worry about Scrornuck. Nalia started explaining before Jape could ask. “The Servants of Spafu and the Snakers are at it again. See the guy with the picture of Spafu on the back of his jacket? That's Ferinianne, the leader of the Servants. He tried to pick me up a couple times, but I blew him off—the Servants are just too damn obsessive about offerings. As for the Snakers, they believe Spafu is the most recent incarnation of the feathered serpent Quetzo—Quetzo-Cocktail or something like that. I only dated the Snaker guy for a couple weeks. He was just too weird. Anyway, it seems they're always fighting, and nobody but them is sure why."

  "So much for the joy of sects,” Jape said. Giving the brawl a wide berth, the three crossed the Square and headed into the Guest Quarter.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eight

  "My Wish Is Going To Come True"

  In the resort's courtyard, Scrornuck fought a pitched battle with an invisible enemy. He leaped over chairs, rolled beneath tables, danced along the decorative walls, swung from the trees that grew around the pool, all the time swinging Ol’ Red furiously. The sword changed shape—one moment a long and slender dart, the next a broad meat-axe, a moment after that a flickering, fluid thing that looked more like a flame than a blade. From time to time he connected with something that sent bright red debris flying. Jape sat quietly in the midst of the battle, sipping his coffee and reading the messages on his softscroll.

  "Hey, what's going on?” Nalia shouted from the balcony, entertained but mystified by the show.

  Scrornuck stopped to look up, and got smacked right between the eyes by something that splattered like a rotten tomato. He shot Jape an accusing look. “Hey, pause that thing!"

  Jape tapped the scroll. “Sorry, I had it on automatic."

  "What's going on?” Nalia asked again.

  "Just some practice.” Scrornuck wiped the red gunk from his face with a pool towel.

  "Practice at what?"

  "Spotting threats, blocking attacks—just another day on the job,” Jape said. “We set up launchers all over the pool area. The scroll fires these practice rounds and he knocks them down."

  "Or they hit him, like that red thing?"

  "That was just a lucky shot. Hey, Jape, how many do we have left?"

  "About fifty. Why?"

  "I'm feeling real loose today. What say you throw the whole schmear all at once?"

  "You think you can handle them all?"

  "I think so. Besides, if I miss we'll just get some red stuff on us. C'mon, push the button!"

  With a sigh, Jape tapped the softscroll. “If you miss, you're doing the laundry!"

  "That's what room service is for!” Scrornuck said, as all the launchers fired at once. He jumped atop the table, shoved Jape down with his foot, and swung Ol’ Red wildly. The sword's blade whipped about, curving, stretching, snapping back, slicing through one flying object after another. The “whole schmear” lasted fifteen seconds, during which it looked more like he was dancing at the center of a lightning storm than swinging a sword.

  The firing ended, and Scrornuck stood atop the table, panting. Jape sat up and said, “I think it's over; you can stop posing now."

  Funt! A launcher fired behind Scrornuck. He whirled about, raised Ol’ Red, and delicately caught the flying object in midair. He bounced it around with his sword as if playing hackey-sack, and held it out in front of Jape's face. “You skunked me with a delayed last shot once, you won't do it again!"

  "Want to bet on that?"

  Funt! Another launcher fired, again from behind. Scrornuck whipped the sword around, throwing the object he'd just caught at the one streaking toward him. The two met in midair with a satisfying splat, flinging red stuff around the pool deck. “Yeah, I'll take that bet. You're buying the beer tonight."

  Jape sighed. “What else is new? I've got the expense account."

  "So let's use it.” Scrornuck rubbed his rumbling stomach. “Last one to the restaurant buys breakfast!"

  Scrornuck made sure that Jape was last to the restaurant. By now he hardly noticed the fourth chair at their table for three, an ornate throne festooned with images of Spafu the Friendly Dragon. What he did notice, between bites of his vast meal, was that there had been more disappearances. “Paper says another Squatter went missing last night. Doesn't it bother anyone that people are disappearing?"

  Nalia shrugged. “Why should it? The article doesn't mention foul play. Maybe he left town, or just snuck in past the Guards. Squatters aren't the most law-abiding people, you know..."

  "Actually, we don't know,” Jape said. “Just what is a
Squatter?"

  She briefly held up the token that hung from her neck. “If you don't have a Residence Pass, you have to live with somebody who does, or live on the street. Or you break into an empty apartment and live there till the Guards kick you out. That's Squatting. So you see, it doesn't mean much when a Squatter drops out of sight—maybe he just moved in with somebody who has a Pass."

  "That's not news!” Scrornuck complained. “News is when people get eaten by dragons, or kidnapped, or something like that. ‘Boy meets girl, boy moves into girl's apartment’ isn't news!"

  "Mister Saughblade,” Jape said, “remember where we are. The news is just another part of the show."

  "Harrumph.” Somewhat irritated, Scrornuck turned to the funny pages, which were at least honestly about entertainment. “Hey,” he said, “they've got a bridge column!"

  "You play that game?” Nalia asked. “I could never figure it out."

  "I can't, either,” Scrornuck said. “I just like reading the column. It's like translating technical stuff. I recognize the words, they fit into sentences, but I have no idea what they're talking about. Here's one: Overcall the no-trump and ruff partner in dummy's suit, you should get at least three tricks. That sounds like something a cross-dressing hooker would do!"

  Jape pushed his empty plate aside and unrolled the softscroll. “Well, let's see what's new today,” he said, bringing up the morning's messages. “Would you look at that—control codes for a weathersat."

  "A what?” Nalia asked.

  "It's a kind of eye-in-the-sky camera that tells us what the weather will be."

  "Why don't they just look at the calendar? If it's Monday, it rains at four in the morning, if it's Thursday, it rains at two..."

  "The weather's not this well-behaved everywhere,” Jape said. “Some places have warm sunshine at breakfast and snow for lunch.” He returned his attention to the scroll. “What's next—something about the Alpine Lake Winter Sports Complex? Looks like they decided to move it two miles to the east.” The document contained a vague map with hand-drawn corrections. “Doesn't say much, but it gives an idea where the place is.” He called up the map he'd been building since their arrival and added a vaguely round splotch entitled “Alpine Lake."