The Last Protector

  Somewhat reluctantly, Scrornuck handed over the instrument. Jape inspected the grip closely. “It almost looks like it came off a fibersword."

  "Yeah.” Scrornuck held Ol’ Red and the Setron side by side. Except for the color of the leather, the grips were identical. “They feel the same, too. And they can talk to each other.” He described how he'd used the Setron's music to set Ol’ Red's fibers dancing a few nights earlier.

  "So it's a similar technology,” Jape said, looking very closely at the glassy, faintly glowing fibers that snaked across the instrument's body, connecting the grip to the frets and sound-generators. “And Abe called it a weapon..."

  "That's just an expression,” Scrornuck protested, “like calling a guitar an axe."

  "Maybe, maybe not.” Jape queried the scroll again. “Hmm. Sound waves are known to influence attitude, cause exhilaration or depression, induce digestive distress and vomiting..."

  Nalia laughed. “Well, I've heard singers who made me want to barf."

  "This machine's working at a level far more basic than musical taste."

  "It put some funny chords in that incantation I played at the tower,” Scrornuck said. “Is that why the Captain's army puked?"

  Jape nodded. “I wonder what it's capable of? Last night, when I was so discouraged, you played a song..."

  "Yeah, it perked you right up."

  "And it contained some odd harmonies."

  "You played something for me the other night when I couldn't sleep,” Nalia said. “It sounded a little funny, too, but it made me feel really calm."

  Scrornuck frowned slightly. “And now that you mention it, there was that whiny singer in the bar. After we played together, the Setron wanted me to play something. I couldn't even hear it, but you saw how he changed."

  Jape nodded. “Confidence and energy, a complete turnaround. And now, with just one song, you got the Army over its fear of the eclipse.” He looked at the Setron with new respect. “This thing is powerful. And it suggests things for you to play?"

  Scrornuck nodded. “Yeah, it talks to me, just like Ol’ Red."

  "Hmm.” Jape stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suggest you be careful with it. Abe called it a weapon, it's got components from a fibersword, it can affect people physically and emotionally, and you say it's suggesting things to play. It could be dangerous."

  "I can handle it,” Scrornuck said, feeling a bit defensive.

  "Just don't let it become your master."

  "I won't."

  They sat, watching the moon reappear from the shadow of the world, until Nalia got up to use the privy. “I've been thinking,” Scrornuck said.

  "Generally a useful activity,” Jape replied. “About anything in particular?"

  "That supply world you talked about yesterday. It's all machines, right?"

  "Probably. Haven't visited, so I can't say for sure."

  "Machines break down.” Scrornuck remembered well the continuous struggles to keep his old bikes running.

  "Eventually."

  "What happens then? These people get everything from the Temple. They can't even feed themselves."

  "That's not really our concern, Mister Saughblade."

  "Maybe it should be. We say we're here to save the world, but if somebody doesn't teach these people to grow their own food, I don't think we're saving anything."

  Jape shrugged. “Short of settling down here and teaching the people farming, what do you suggest?"

  "I don't know. I just think we should do something."

  "I think we should get some sleep. If we don't take care of Draggott and the Orb tomorrow, Taupeaquaah won't have a future to worry about.” With that, Jape headed for his tent and was soon asleep.

  Nalia soon returned and sat down next to Scrornuck. He sighed. “Tomorrow's going to be nasty."

  "Maybe not,” she replied. “Taupeaquaahns are pretty peaceful."

  "Our late friend the Captain said Draggott taught her people to kill. Tomorrow's going to be a war, not a nice, civilized little duel."

  "We still outnumber them—the Army's over a thousand, and the disappearances and kidnappings only add up to about four hundred."

  "I'm not sure that matters,” Scrornuck said. “If Draggott controls his soldiers through the Orb, they'll be ruthless. If the Taupeaquaahns don't fight for real..."

  "You'll protect them,” she said confidently.

  "Yeah.” He gazed across the dunes at the Army's camp, the castle, and the Orb. “If they don't kill me first. Back at the pub, I heard people saying I should be marched back to the Temple and sacrificed. They figure this whole thing's my fault ‘cause I wouldn't give the lizard my boots.” He let out a long sigh. “Twice in one week. Sometimes this job just sucks."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  "I Think I'd Rather Get Drunk"

  Scrornuck awoke from a fitful sleep. He'd spent the night tossing and turning, grinding his forearms into the coarse sand as he sought relief from a fiendish itching. Sometime after the lunar eclipse ended, Nalia had given up trying to share the blanket and retired to her tent, leaving him to squirm and mutter in his sleep.

  Now, just after dawn, he felt like crap. His nose was clogged, his vision was blurred and his face felt puffy, like he'd spent the night sleeping in a field of Kansasian Sneezeweed. Gotta find some food, he thought, sitting up and groping for the pack. Two beers remained in the cooler. He opened one and drank, hoping the heavy stout had some nutritional value. To his surprise, he felt a little better. Hair of the dog. He drank the second beer, and felt better still as his nose started working.

  He smelled something delicious: sausages and eggs frying somewhere. Still having trouble seeing—the film on his eyes wouldn't blink away—he followed his nose to a little fire on the edge of the Army's camp. There, a soldier knelt, facing the other way, stirring a delicious casserole.

  "Morning, friend,” Scrornuck said hopefully. Despite his best efforts to sound neighborly, the words came out in a deep growl.

  The soldier didn't turn around. “It's a good morning to die,” he said solemnly.

  Scrornuck shrugged. “Good as any other day, I guess. But it sucks to die on an empty stomach—can I talk you out of a little breakfast?"

  The soldier turned. His eyes jumped open, almost a cartoon double-take, and for several seconds his mouth moved but made no sound. “Take it,” he stammered. “Anything you want..."

  "Thanks, friend.” Scrornuck took the pan and ambled back toward his own camp, casually tasting the casserole. It was good, really good, and he had to struggle to take only a few samples.

  The fresh air made him feel better, and his vision soon cleared up. The air seemed especially clear this morning—he felt he could see each brick in the wall of the castle.

  "Wake up, sleepyheads!” he said, banging the pan with Ol’ Red's iron stub. “Breakfast is served!” His voice still sounded hoarse, and his face still felt puffy. Time to get that allergy stuff, he thought, setting down the pan and kneeling before the entrance to Jape's tent. “Hey, Jape, where's the medical stuff?"

  "Never mind that,” Jape said, blearily sticking his head out of the tent. “Where's the coffee—and what the hell happened to you?"

  "Slept in some sneezeweed, I guess,” Scrornuck said—and then stopped, noticing Jape's shocked stare. “Did I miss something?” he said tentatively, and slowly reached up to feel his face. “Uh-oh."

  "You better have a look at yourself,” Jape said, handing him a small mirror.

  Scrornuck took the mirror and looked, blinked, looked again. His ears were larger than he remembered, and pointed. A pair of bony ridges, like budding horns, began somewhere under his hair, ran across his eyebrows and converged on his nose. Beneath the ridges sat a pair of eyes that seemed bigger and slightly angled, with vertical black slits for pupils. “Holy shit,” he whispered, slowly handing the mirror back.

  Jape pulled his hand away, and the mirror fell to the
ground. “Watch it with those things,” he said, pointing to Scrornuck's arms. Bony ridges protruded from the skin of his forearms, beginning just above the wrist and ending just below the elbow, where they formed upward-pointing spikes a few inches long. Tentatively, he touched one of the ridges on its scalloped edge. It was razor-sharp.

  Nalia lazily emerged from her tent, got her first look at Scrornuck, and stared in disbelief. “What's happening?” she stammered.

  "It's the curse,” he said.

  "What curse?"

  "The Beast, the monster that couldn't be killed. Just before I threw him into the volcano, he warned me this would happen."

  "It spoke?” Jape said. “Why didn't you tell me about this at the time?"

  "I was afraid you'd throw me into the volcano after him,” Scrornuck said. “After what he said, I was half-tempted to jump..."

  Scrornuck put his shoulder against the rattly wagon. The last rock was moved, the way was clear, and it was time to send the pieces of the indestructible Beast into the fiery heart of the volcano.

  "Listen,” a voice hissed, just above a whisper. Scrornuck looked over his shoulder to see what the Stranger wanted, but the drab-looking man was much too far away to have been the one speaking. The faint voice spoke again, and this time there was no question about its source. Despite the volcano's heat, Scrornuck felt a chill as he peered into the wagon and saw that enough of the monster's head had come back together to permit it to speak. The Beast's immense jaw was shattered, the head severed at the neck, the top of the skull open. Only the creature's lips moved, but that was enough.

  "What are you?” Scrornuck demanded of the bloody apparition. “You sound almost like a man."

  "I was, once. A warrior, like you. And then—” Something like a sob escaped the creature's tattered lips. “There is healing in the blood, my friend. Healing, and madness, and then the terrible changes, and finally the insatiable hunger.” Something that looked like a tear fell from its mutilated eye. “You have touched the blood. The evil has entered you."

  Scrornuck inspected himself and realized that, despite shedding his blood-soaked kilt and shirt, despite scrubbing himself in the snow on the mountainside, he still felt the stickiness of the monster's blood.

  The Beast sighed. “My pain is coming to an end, but yours is just beginning. I am sorry. Farewell."

  "Farewell,” Scrornuck whispered.

  "And now it's happening,” Scrornuck said.

  "No.” Jape shook his head adamantly. “Whatever's happening, it's not because of the Beast.” He got out the softscroll. An image appeared—round, red blobs floating in a straw-colored fluid. “This is the Beast's blood.” He pointed to small, angular objects darting between the blobs. “These are microbots—tiny machines that float in the blood and embed themselves in tissues, repairing injuries and wounds.” He set the scroll aside. “About thirty years ago, before we built the Barrier to prevent time travel, a man from my world moved to a time stream whose present day was in the Middle Ages. There, he injected himself with microbots, planning to become an invincible warrior and build an empire.

  "But the microbots worked too well—they didn't just repair injuries, they tried to improve him, make him stronger and more indestructible. Bit by bit, they changed him into something no longer human. By the time you found a way to dispose of him, he'd gone quite mad and been on a rampage for several years."

  "And when I killed him, he passed the things on to me,” Scrornuck said.

  "He did,” Jape said, “but that's not the whole story. Think back, to the time you fought the invaders from space. The ship was hit, your body was destroyed, and Captain Shemp pulled off a full Schuffmann process extraction a few seconds before your brain died. We used the ship's machinery to extract your mind, your thoughts, your personality..."

  "My soul?” Scrornuck said hopefully.

  "Umm, yes,” Jape replied, “that's a good word. And after we did that, you existed only as information stored in various machines. Microbots are physical objects that live in your body. No body, no microbots. When I reversed the process at Kurzitskogorsk-Seven, you went into an entirely different body. There's no way you could be carrying the monster's microbots. Here, I'll prove it.” He held out a ring. “Give me a blood sample.” Scrornuck obediently punctured a fingertip and let a drop of blood fall on the ring. Jape glanced at the softscroll—and gasped audibly. Long purple strands floated among the red blood cells. “Where the hell did those come from?"

  "From the Beast,” Scrornuck said glumly. “Just like I said."

  Jape shook his head. “No. These are different.” In the side-by-side images, the devices from the Beast's blood were boxy and angular, while those in Scrornuck's blood were long, thin, sinuous. “They came from somewhere else,” the Ranger said. “But where? And when? We need to think..."

  "We need to eat,” Nalia said, lifting the pan of breakfast casserole. “Before this stuff gets all the way cold."

  As they ate, they reviewed the events of the last few days, and Jape made a timeline on the scroll. “Okay,” he said, “here's something: the minor wound you received at the Executive Palace took five days to heal, correct?"

  Scrornuck nodded.

  "But,” Jape went on, “the more serious wounds you took from at Alpine Lake—those healed in less than two days. Something must have happened in between."

  "You seemed to be a lot stronger last night,” Nalia added.

  "Hmm—” Jape thought for another minute. Then inspiration seemed to strike, and he fumbled through the pockets of his cape. “Where is that sample? Ah, here it is!” He produced a small tube containing a little plug of meat, which Scrornuck recognized as the piece he'd cut from the wing muscle of the slain dragon. “It feels gritty,” the Ranger said as he pulled the sample from the container.

  "Gritty?” Scrornuck said. “Let me feel it.” He rubbed the tissue between his fingers. It felt as if it had been dropped in dust or sand. “At the Trading Post, when I washed out my wounds, I felt something like this. Thought dust had gotten in..."

  Jape placed the sample on the clear jewel of a ring, and looked eagerly at the scroll. It showed an image of purple strings coiled around thicker pink fibers. “Well, look at that—microbots wrapped around the muscle fibers. So that's why the dragon was so strong.” He pulled a large needle from the medical kit. “Now it's your turn. Sorry, this is going to hurt a little."

  It hurt more than a little. Jape took a tissue sample from Scrornuck's leg and carefully laid it atop the ring. A moment later, an image appeared on the softscroll, nearly identical to the first. “Well, it makes sense—you had your arms buried up to the shoulders in the dragon's head, and you had plenty of cuts. They'd have no trouble finding a way in."

  "Great,” Scrornuck said, looking at the scars on his arms. “So now what—am I turning into a dragon?"

  Jape thought for a minute. “I don't think so. The dragons aren't constantly changing, and they aren't that much different from natural flying lizards—just a little more ferocious-looking and a lot stronger. I suspect the microbots have already done everything they're programmed to do."

  "I hope you're right."

  Jape rolled up the scroll. “So do I, Mister Saughblade—and not just because you're my Protector. According to my instruments, the dragon's microbots won't disrupt the stream crossing. If, on the other hand, you were infected with the ones from the Beast..."

  "I'd have to jump down the nearest volcano, wouldn't I?” Scrornuck shuddered at the thought.

  "Probably,” Jape said. “But since you're not infected with the Beast's microbots, it's not a problem. Meanwhile, there's a world to be saved. Let's focus on that. When we're done, we'll get whatever medical attention you need."

  "There's a world to be saved.” With a sigh of resignation, Scrornuck pulled on his boots. A shirt was out of the question—his arm-spikes would shred the sleeves. After some thought he removed his jacket from the tent pole where it had spent the night, unlace
d the sides and hung it over his shoulders. While he held those dangerous arms high over his head, Nalia re-laced the jacket's sides. “Well,” he asked, “how do I look?"

  "Not bad,” Jape replied. “I think you could pose for the cover of a cheesy novel."

  "As the monster."

  "Hey, the monster's always the best part of a book cover."

  "I think you look just fine.” Nalia stood on tiptoes and gave him a rather careful kiss. “Any girl in town could have a muscle-bound Acolyte. I've got the only scrornuck there is."

  "Yeah, I guess I am the only one.” Holding his spiky arms out of the way, he returned her kiss. Inwardly he wondered, the only one of what? The shape-shifting warrior from the legend? Or am I just the bug?

  * * * *

  Scrornuck stuffed his plaid blanket into the backpack and cinched its closures as tight as he could. Then he buried the pack and stuck a tent-pole in the sand to mark the spot. “We'll pick it up when we've finished with Draggott,” he said.

  Jape nodded, looking a little distracted. “I think I've figured out what powers the microbots,” he said. “It's rather elegant."

  "What?” Scrornuck tied a red bandanna to the pole, making a flag.

  "Alcohol. I think the dragon ferments and refines alcohol from those dragon-berries, along with gas for flaming. The alcohol fuels the microbots. That would explain how you could drink like a fish last night without getting drunk."

  Scrornuck slipped, and the sharp spike on his arm cut the bandanna in two. “Right now,” he said with a sigh, “I think I'd rather get drunk."

  In the distance, a horn sounded. The Army of Taupeaquaah started moving, slowly and without much coordination, toward the castle. “Here we go,” Scrornuck said, slinging the Setron over his shoulder like a second sword. “What's the plan?"

  Jape shrugged. “I wish I had one. Seven hundred pages of meeting notes and technical documents arrived this morning. There's no rhyme or reason to it. I wish Abe had written more in his reports—he must have known something about these things.” He glanced at the flickering light atop the Castle's tower and began thinking out loud. “Let's see if this adds up: Draggott's a local warlord with big dreams..."