The Last Protector (33 page)

"Yeah,” she said, “this is a lot better.” He held her close and they moved slowly in time to the music. I could do this all night, he thought.

Jape got up as the song ended. “Well, I'm calling it a night. Nalia, Mister Saughblade, try to get some sleep tonight. Remember there's a world to be saved."

After Jape retired, Scrornuck and Nalia made themselves comfortable on the plaid blanket, enjoying each other's warmth and the soft rustling of the wind through the trees.

"Scrornuck,” she said at last, “that song you were singing—what you said at the end, did you mean it?"

"Huh?” He searched his memory, trying to recall the words he'd made up on the fly. How did that song end, anyway, he thought. Oh yeah, something about how I'm going to love you forever...

"Did you mean it?” she asked again.

"It's a song,” he replied carefully. “A lot of songs are about love.” He stopped, wondering whether his words had been a convenient way to end the song, or something more meaningful. “Umm, I, uh..."

She cut off his babbling with another world-class kiss. When they came up for air, she seemed to have forgotten the question. “Mmm,” she said, resting her head on his chest, “you make a good pillow."

"Thanks.” The thought crossed his mind that being a pillow wasn't a bad occupation.

After a while, Nalia dozed off and slept peacefully. Scrornuck smiled and dropped into his usual light sleep, one eye partially open, and asked himself: Did I mean it?

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Shortly before sunrise, Scrornuck awoke to the call of nature. Gently and carefully, he lifted Nalia's head from his chest, wadding up some of the plaid to form a pillow. She murmured softly in her sleep as he slipped into his boots and silently padded to the cliff to do his business.

A gentle breeze wafted over the crater-rim, setting his hair to swaying. Another perfect morning, he thought as he took in the view. A patch of grayish-pink in the east announced that the sun would be rising soon, but in the crater, all was darkness, aside from the flickering violet-white light on the island.

Another flicker of light caught his eye, and for a moment he thought he saw something moving on the lake, near the island. He blinked, and it was gone. A quick scan with the spotter-scope revealed nothing.
Probably just that light reflecting off a wave.

Knowing Jape would want to get an early start, he decided to get breakfast going. At the very bottom of the backpack, he found a small package, tightly wrapped in brown paper and still nicely cold. It contained a dozen fresh eggs, a wedge of cheese and a chunk of ham that he'd kept hidden since purchasing it at the trading post. Omelets today, he thought, allowing a smug grin to cross his face. They'll be expecting that survival crap.

As he unwrapped the package and placed a little kindling on the remains of the campfire, he got the tiniest whiff of a strange and unpleasant odor. He sniffed more deeply and raised a wet finger, detecting a slight breeze blowing from inside the crater. The breeze became a strong wind, carrying with it the revolting stench of the outhouse at a chili cook-off, spiked with the sickly-sweet aroma of a cheap distillery. Seconds later, a dragon, a big one—no, an
enormous
one—soared over the cliff, grazing the tree-tops and heading straight toward him, claws extended, open mouth showing a huge row of teeth. With an unearthly shriek, the monster spat a stream of fire straight at him.

"Crap!” he shouted, diving to escape the flames. So much for Jape's reassuring words about delicate ornamental dragons: this thing could carry the three of them away with ease. Shouting a few curses in his native tongue, he drew Ol’ Red and prepared to do battle with the monster.

The noise awoke both Nalia and Jape, who crawled from their tents just in time to watch helplessly as the dragon sank its claws into the shoulder-guards of Scrornuck's jacket and lifted him into the air. Within a minute the beast was hundreds of feet above the crater rim and climbing steadily.

"Carry me away like some fair maiden,” Scrornuck muttered, “we'll see about that, colon-breath!” Forming Ol’ Red's blade into a narrow shaft, he plunged it into the thick wing muscle of the dragon's chest. The beast shook and screeched as the flexible blade worked its way into its flesh and split into a thousand tiny hooks that wrapped around bones and tendons. “Oh, no, you don't,” he shouted as the dragon released its grip and tried to drop him, “you wanted me,
you got me!"

The beast stopped climbing and began spiraling down. Blood, a lot of it, ran over Scrornuck's hands and down his arms; he'd severed one of the dragon's arteries. Good, he thought, that'll weaken it and it'll have to land. Another part of his mind was less optimistic. Yeah, it'll fall out of the sky like a brick.

The dragon kicked and scratched at him, tearing at the hem of his kilt and opening bloody gashes in his arms and legs. “Two can play this game, buster,” Scrornuck muttered, swinging around to deliver some kicks of his own. The first hit only air, but the second struck the beast's ribcage with a satisfying
crack,
and the dragon descended more rapidly.

As the wounded dragon came in low over the trees, Scrornuck shifted his grip on Ol’ Red and yanked hard on the animal's wing muscle. The creature instinctively pulled back into something resembling a landing flare. At that moment Scrornuck shifted his grip again, releasing the fibersword's hold on the dragon. He hit the ground hard, the boosters in his boots absorbing the impact with a loud, angry sound, and rolled some distance, bouncing off rocks and trees before he stopped. It's a good landing if you can walk away from it, he thought, as he got slowly to his feet. He was going to hurt, a lot, later on.

Trailing a steady stream of blood, barely able to stay aloft, the dragon swooped down for another attack. “What part of
'die, die, DIE!'
don't you understand?” Scrornuck cried, as he launched himself at the beast. This time, he got Ol’ Red right into the dragon's breadbasket, slicing its torso open end-to-end, spilling its guts—and bursting its gas-bladder. The monster exploded in a foul-smelling fireball. Blinded by smoke, Scrornuck fell, bouncing off tree limbs and tumbling end-over-end. The last thing he heard was a sickening
crack
from his left leg as he hit the ground.

"Mister Saughblade!” Jape's voice brought Scrornuck back to reality. Reality hurt. He let out a loud groan as he tried to push himself up to a sitting position, and saw that his leg was bent at an angle not found in nature. Moaning softly, he collapsed.

Jape and Nalia arrived a moment later. She went white and turned away at the sight of Scrornuck, battered, scorched and drenched in blood. “It's not as bad as it looks,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “Most of the blood's from the other guy."

The Ranger was all business. “Did it to yourself again, I see. Good thing I brought one of these.” He calmly removed a small packet from a pocket of his cape.

"What's that?” Nalia asked.

"Internal bone splint. Mister Saughblade has a habit of breaking things, so we never travel without one.” He grabbed Scrornuck's foot. “This is going to hurt. Sorry."

Scrornuck clamped his jaws together and struggled not to cry out as Jape pulled the leg straight. Tears filled his eyes, but only a small whimper escaped his lips.

Jape opened the packet and took out a fabric cuff lined with tiny metal clips and wires. Pushing Scrornuck's kilt up a little, he carefully wrapped the internal splint around the break and hooked his finger through a small ring on the cuff. “Ready?"

"No.” Scrornuck clenched his fists and hung on.

Jape pulled the ring. Hundreds of fibers burrowed into Scrornuck's leg, pulling metal wires and clips after them, encircling the bone ends, drawing them together, building a support structure around them. Despite his best effort Scrornuck howled, drawing a reply from a distant wolf. After a minute that seemed a lot longer, the splint finished its work. “Well, how is it?” Jape asked.

With some help, Scrornuck got to his feet and gently put a little weight on the leg. “I think it's okay.” He took a few cautious steps, followed by a few more confident steps. “Now where the hell's my sword..."

A few minutes’ search located Ol’ Red, not far from where the dragon's head lay, mostly upright and leaning against a fallen tree. “Stop looking at me,” Scrornuck muttered, as he gently closed the dragon's huge green eye. “This one's good and fresh,” he said, extending the sword's blade. “I'm finally going to get my carbuncle."

"How many times do I have to tell you, carbuncles are mythical,” Jape began, and then paused thoughtfully. “Still, in this case, it might be worth a look."

With one grand stroke, Scrornuck sliced off the top of the dragon's skull, exposing a mass of bloody gray tissue that steamed in the cool morning air. He removed his jacket, pulled his hair back into a long ponytail, and plunged his hands into the dragon's skull. Blood and tissue and unrecognizable black-and-gray stuff floated to the surface and dribbled down the dragon's face as he groped around, pulling blood vessels, running his fingers along the inside of the skull, searching for something hard and sharp-edged. Soon he had both arms buried in the dragon's head well up above the elbows, methodically stirring through the bloody tissue, still finding nothing. The sticky, slimy gore soaked the front of his shirt and burned fiendishly when it got into the cuts on his arms.

Frustrated at finding nothing, he plunged his right arm into the dragon's head, up above the shoulder this time, until his face was barely an inch above the foul-smelling glop—and his fingers closed on something solid. He wriggled and pulled. It resisted. “C'mon,” he muttered, feeling his fingers slip, “come on, you dirty bitch!” Something snapped inside the dragon's skull and his arm jerked up, launching a shower of blood and tissue that sent Jape and Nalia ducking.

"Ta-daa!” he said, displaying a blood-covered device with several strings attached to it. “Finally got one!” He found a clean corner of his shirt and wiped the object clean, revealing a translucent purple crystal whose insides sparkled with a network of golden veils.

Jape waved his rings close to the crystal and watched them flash their code. “Hmm. It identifies itself as a
ContRobotics Corporation Series 36C Dynamic Biomanager,
whatever that is."

"It's just another gadget?” Scrornuck let the crystal fall into Jape's hand. “Crap."

Jape examined the device and dropped it into a pocket of his cape. “Still, it's information.” He made a note on his softscroll. “We'll see what it tells us.” Putting the scroll back in his cape, he climbed over a fallen tree to look at the remains of the dragon's torso. “I want a tissue sample.” He held two fingers about an inch apart. “About this big, from the wing muscle. Let's see what makes this thing so strong."

Scrornuck formed Ol’ Red's blade into a sharp-edged tube and jammed it into the dragon's chest. “How's this?” He held up an inch-long plug of gritty tissue.

Jape handed him a small plastic tube. “Perfect. Put it in here for now. I'll take a look at it later.” Scrornuck did this, and Jape stashed the sample in a pocket of his cape.

"Yuck, this stuff's disgusting,” Scrornuck said, picking at the bloody mess clinging to his arms. With a little help from Nalia, taking great pains to keep his hair out of the muck, he delicately peeled off his shirt and scrubbed his arms. It stung, it made a mess of the shirt, and when he was done a fair amount of the smelly glop still clung to him. With a sigh, he slipped his jacket on, and the three headed for camp.

When they arrived, they found the dragon's attack had done serious damage: the spotter-scope was destroyed, its lens shattered, the image-array scratched and burned, circuitry in pieces strewn from camp to cliff. “Well, that's junk,” Jape said, kicking a broken piece over the edge.

"So's our breakfast,” Scrornuck said. The ham and cheese had fallen into the fire and were now little more than pleasant-smelling lumps of carbon, while the eggs were scattered and broken. “So much for omelets,” he sighed, pulling a plastic bag of survival rations from the pack. “I guess we have to eat this crap, after all.” He broke off several pieces of the tough, brown jerky and passed them around.

"This stuff's gross,” Nalia said, half-heartedly chewing.

"Enh,” Scrornuck said. “At least it doesn't wriggle on the way down.” He picked up the water-skin. It was nearly empty, so he took only a small sip, just enough to soften the mystery meat a little, and passed it on to Nalia.

They spent the next several minutes miserably chewing the stringy, tasteless sludge, trying to soften it up enough to swallow it. Scrornuck passed around his container of spice blend. It didn't help much.

With a bob of her head and an audible
gulp,
Nalia forced down the last of her drab breakfast. She pointed to the gouges that the dragon had made in Scrornuck's arms and legs. “You still need to do something about that."

"Just scratches. They'll heal in a few days."

"Don't play tough-guy,” Jape said, getting up to fetch the medical kit.

"I don't need..."

"Mister Saughblade, that's an order! Now lift that skirt and let's take care of this.” He took out a tube of antiseptic goo. “Nalia, could you squirt a bit of this into the wounds?"

Scrornuck jumped and yelped as she did. “Hey! That stuff
hurts!"

"Not as much as an infection.” Jape pulled the edges of the wound together and secured them with clear tape.

Scrornuck picked at the dried dragon-gore stuck to his arms. “This stuff itches."

"Well, the sooner we get down to the lake, the sooner you can wash it off."

"Yeah, and maybe catch some fish for a proper breakfast,” Nalia said hopefully.

"No fishing,” Scrornuck said, standing on the stony beach and gazing across the blue-white expanse of ice. They'd spent three hours following a narrow, crumbling trail down the sheer cliff, several times coming close to falling. At the bottom of the trail, they found that Alpine Lake was frozen, a skating rink a mile across.