The Last Protector (47 page)

The dirt road ended at a small sod house. “This is as far as we can go on wheels,” the stranger announced. Two horses were tied up near the house, and after throwing the bike's saddlebags over one of the animals, the two mounted up and continued along the narrow, rough trail, traveling through rolling green countryside that struck Scrornuck as more and more familiar. Finally, with the late-afternoon sun giving the land a golden-green tinge, they crested a small hill and saw the collection of sod-and-fieldstone cottages that Scrornuck had once called home.

"What day is it?” Something nagged at the corner of Scrornuck's mind, something he'd forgotten.

"The autumnal equinox, of course. I suppose everybody's at the festival—if I read the sun correctly, it's just about time for the Elder to perform the ceremony with the horse..."

"And just what ceremony was that?” Nalia asked.

Jape grinned. “Yes, Mister Saughblade, would you like to describe it?"

"Um—” Scrornuck began.

Nalia suddenly doubled over, laughing. “I'm sorry, Jape,” she gasped. “I'm trying not to read your mind, but it just leaked out...” She doubled over again. “He did
that
with the horse? And you think the Spafuist rituals are silly?"

"It's an ancient custom,” Scrornuck said. “It really doesn't have any place in the Christian world. The Elder hated it, and I don't think the horse enjoyed it much, either.” He grinned. “It sure was funny to watch, though."

"Do you know why you've been brought back here?” the stranger asked.

Scrornuck nodded. The equinox, exactly six months after he'd foolishly accepted the Knight's dare and cut off the foul-mouthed warrior's head.

"Do you have an answer yet?"

Scrornuck shook his head.

"Well, you have what, an hour? Perhaps it will come to you.” The stranger strolled down a narrow passage between two buildings and was gone. Scrornuck sighed and started walking down toward the old south bog. It was doubtful he'd have any great revelation in next hour, and there was one visit he knew he had to make.

"Scrornuck?” the old man said, as he opened the door and beheld his son for the first time in six months. “You've changed..."

"Much has happened.” Scrornuck stepped into the old house. Aside from the sword he'd so carelessly slashed in two, hanging over the fireplace, the house looked as it had when he set out on his quest. He sat, accepted a drink, and told the story of his adventures with the dragon, the creature that couldn't die, and the invasion from beyond the moon. He described how he'd fought his way out of Light Lager Hades and eventually been reborn in this slender new body. He spoke of the friends he'd made along the way, and described such wonders as motorcycles, the spaceship that had taken him to the moon, his magical boots and the flexible but tough armor of his jacket.

"Well!” His father shook his head in wonder. “It sounds like you've had enough adventure for a lifetime!"

"That could be.” Scrornuck told of the final stranger, who'd brought him back to keep his appointment with the Knight.

The old man frowned. “I warned you that swordplay would get you in trouble. And what a lovely irony—you have armor that could stop any weapon, and a blade that can cut steel, and you can't use them."

Scrornuck nodded glumly. “That's the bargain. He gets one swing."

"One swing he gets.” Scrornuck's father gazed at the broken sword, while his fingers squeezed Scrornuck's shoulder-guard. “Pity there's no way to put these things in his path."

"Yeah."

The old man scratched his beard, and suddenly his bushy red-gray eyebrows rose conspiratorially. “One more time, tell me about these things of yours. And tell me—exactly—what you promised this Knight."

The hour up, Scrornuck strode into the palace, hands clasped respectfully behind his back, his father at his side. The Knight waited in the center of the room, holding the silver sword and tapping his foot impatiently. The Elder sat in his throne, tired, annoyed and somewhat drunk. Many villagers stood along the walls, drawn by the possibility of bloodshed. The servants had already rolled up the rug—any blood spilled today would fall on the dirt floor.

"I hear you have had many adventures since we last met,” the Knight said, in a language that had become second nature to Scrornuck but still left the villagers mystified. “Have they given you the answer to the Great Riddle of Life?"

Scrornuck shook his head. “I have found many riddles and few answers. I still know nothing of the Great Riddle's answer—for that matter, I still know nothing of what the Great Riddle is. I am starting to doubt it exists."

The Knight stood in thoughtful silence, and Scrornuck wondered if he'd stumbled upon the solution. “A clever answer,” the Knight finally said, “but there is a Riddle, and you have not answered it. You remember our bargain."

"I do."

"Then let us get on with it."

Scrornuck knelt, his hands still clasped tightly behind his back, gripping the end of his long ponytail.

"Do you need to make peace with your deities?” the Knight inquired.

"Whenever you're ready."

"Very well. I shall make this as painless as possible.” With that, the Knight gripped the sword with both hands and brought it down. Scrornuck's head hit the dirt with a thud—but it was still attached to his neck. And with a most satisfying clink-clank, the silver sword landed on the floor in two pieces.

"Well done, Mister Saughblade,” the Knight said, “but do I smell a trick?"

"A trick? I'll show you a trick!” Scrornuck jumped to his feet. Ol’ Red's blade instantly appeared, slicing through the Knight's chain mail armor as if it were paper. The onlookers gasped, for in the middle of the Knight's chest, surrounded by wires and cables, was a face. An ordinary face, framed by ordinary blond hair, set off only by a pair of bottomless blue eyes. Scrornuck felt a sudden shock of recognition. He saw in this face the Master Swordsman, the Great Sage, the Stranger who'd enlisted him to defeat the unkillable monster, the Hitchhiker who'd taken him to fight a battle in space, the Blue Man who'd taken him to the moon, the Doctor who'd put him into this new body, and the last Stranger, the one who'd brought him from the bar in Dublin to his old village. And the face beamed with pride. “Congratulations, Mister Saughblade,” the blue-eyed stranger said. “You've passed the audition."

Ol’ Red's blade flicked out again, slicing away the remaining armor and the linkages that operated the false head. If the blue-eyed man had any fear of the glassy blade's shimmering edges, he did not show it. When the false head and the last of the armor had been removed, a man of just under average height and relentlessly unassuming appearance stood in place of the imposing Knight. He extended a hand. “Ranger James Peter Phelps at your service,” he said. “Call me Jape."

Scrornuck stared. “I should kill you for what you've done to me..."

"What have I done? When I arrived here, you were a farm boy looking at a life of digging vegetables and felling trees. You said you wanted to have grand adventures. Well, you have slain the beast that couldn't die, repulsed an attack from beyond the moon, entered the place of the dead and returned, and overcome an army of giants. Have you not received your wish? And in the process you have more than once saved the world.” A murmur passed through the spectators, and Scrornuck realized that Jape had delivered the final sentence in the villagers’ tongue.

"Didn't know the world needed saving."

"There's much you don't know.” The former Knight returned to his own language. “The world balances on a knife-edge. Long ago, proud men made terrible mistakes, mistakes that would lead to deaths beyond number. For the last fourteen years I have been working to undo them. You can help. Or you can go back to the fields. It is for you to choose.” He again held out his hand.

Slowly, Scrornuck took it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father smiling.

Jape shook Scrornuck's hand warmly. Then he turned to the Elder, waved, and called in the local language, “Farewell! Perhaps we shall return someday.” He took two steps toward the door and called, in his own speech, “Follow me, Mister Saughblade. There's a world to be saved."

Scrornuck followed.

Nalia looked at Jape. “All those people were you?"

Jape nodded. “Master of disguise."

She thought for a moment. “The Knight's head—some kind of puppet?"

"A very fancy puppet. There were all sorts of gadgets to make it follow my moves and facial expressions. It was built by an entertainment company—UniFlag, I believe."

"And if you haven't already guessed,” Scrornuck said, “Ol’ Red and the stiffening spray saved my neck. I hid Ol’ Red in my hands and worked the fibers up through my ponytail, then my dad soaked my hair with the spray. By the time the stuff dried, it was strong as my jacket. The Knight's sword never had a chance."

"I rigged the execution, too,” Jape said. “I brought the blade down almost on its side—the last thing I wanted to do was behead my new Protector."

"That was on purpose? I just figured it was because you were a lousy swordsman."

"Yeah, what about that?” Nalia asked. “You've said you're not much of a swordsman. You don't even own a sword. How could you have been the Master?"

"Allow me to demonstrate.” Jape took Nalia's sword and, in a series of quick moves, whirled the blade over his head, behind his back, spun it on his fingertips, grazed it within an inch of her nose, and brought it to a perfect halt, in exactly the position he'd started, all the time shouting out the names of the moves.

"And you say you're not a swordsman—"

"Want to see it again?” Jape shot Scrornuck a small wink.

Nalia nodded and Jape repeated the routine. Halfway through, Scrornuck deftly plucked the sword from Jape's grip, flipped it over his head and caught it behind his back. “I believe you dropped something?” he said.

Nalia gasped. “He almost cut your hand off!"

"Nah, not even close. There's this spot, right after the move he calls the ‘lotus blossom of death,’ when he stops the sword completely for a quarter of a second."

"This little show is all I can do with a sword,” Jape said. “I practiced for months to get it right. I understand the theory of combat, I can teach swordplay, I can give a good demonstration—but my reactions are slow, and I have to think things through before I act. In a real fight, I'd be dead in seconds."

"Had me fooled,” she said.

Scrornuck shrugged. “Heck, he had our whole village fooled."

She had one more question for Jape. “Why all the disguises—why not just tell him who you were?"

"I thought it'd be better for his training if he didn't know who I was."

"Hmm.” She looked at Scrornuck. “And why didn't you tell me it was Jape all along?"

He shrugged. “A surprise ending makes a better story."

Scrornuck danced along the narrow dune, waving his sword in a frenzy, leaping, dropping, rolling. Lacking practice rounds to hone his skill, he tried to pick individual grains of sand as they blew by on the wind.

"Hey, cut that out,” Jape shouted. “You're going to tire yourself out. Take it easy; tomorrow's going to be a big day."

Scrornuck trotted over and grabbed a bottle of Batatat's Stout from the pack. “Not tired,” he said. “I'm all full of energy tonight."

"All full of beer, more likely. What is that, your third?"

Scrornuck paused to count. “Fourth, I think.” He lifted the bottle and stared at the black liquid. “Must be a weak batch—I don't feel a thing."

"Don't bullshit a serving girl,” Nalia warned. “All the guys say that when they've had one too many."

"I mean it.” Scrornuck balanced his sword-grip on one finger. “I couldn't do this if I was drunk."

"All right, let's find out.” Jape held one of his rings in front of Scrornuck's mouth. “Breathe on this."

Scrornuck did as instructed. Jape watched the ring flash, his look becoming puzzled. He wiped the gem very, very thoroughly and again held it up in front of Scrornuck's mouth. “One more time."

Again, Scrornuck exhaled, adding a belch for good measure. Again the jewel flickered, and again Jape stared, bewildered. He dipped a finger in Scrornuck's beer and let one drop fall on the jewel. It flashed a much different message. “Well, the instrument's working,” he said, “and the beer's full strength. But you're right, there's no alcohol on your breath, none at all. Let's—"

"Yeah.” Scrornuck knew what Jape would want next. He formed Ol’ Red's blade into a short, sharp needle, pricked his finger and let a drop of blood fall on the ring.

"Too little alcohol to detect,” Jape said, wiping the ring on Scrornuck's shirt. “It's in the beer, but not your blood.” He shrugged. “Well, I can't figure out where the food you shove down your throat goes—I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the alcohol's disappearing, too."

Scrornuck grinned and jumped to his feet. “Maybe I just burn it up. Like I said, I'm full of energy tonight."

"Well, I guess we'll have to tire you out, so we can get some sleep tonight.” Jape reached into the pack and came up with the golden throwing-disc. “Fetch, Rover!"

"Yahoo!” Scrornuck pulled off his shirt, kicked off his boots, and ran barefoot along the dune, chasing the flying disc. He caught it, threw it back to Jape, chased and retrieved it again, and again.

After a few minutes, Jape handed the disc and the controller to Nalia. She tossed it, almost directly to him. He caught effortlessly. “Come on, make me jump for it!” he called as he tossed it back.

"All right.” She threw the disc nearly straight up and grabbed the controller. The disc soared, swooped and twisted as Scrornuck struggled to get in position to catch it. Finally, as it passed near him, he jumped, rising a good ten feet above the dune, and hauled the disc down. Grinning ear-to-ear after making the difficult catch, he trotted back to deliver it personally.