The Last Protector (34 page)

"Well, we know why they call this place a winter sports area,” Jape said.

"Yeah.” Scrornuck took a running start and slid gracefully across the ice, as though he had skates on. “Wow, it's perfect. How do they—” His feet slid out from under him and he fell. The tape tore off a wound in his leg, and he left a bright-red trail of blood across the blue-white ice as he slid to a stop. “How do they keep it so slick?"

"I think those machines do it,” Jape said, pointing to some dark specks moving methodically back and forth in the distance. “They look like ice polishers."

Nalia walked gingerly onto the ice, testing her traction. “It's not going to be easy to walk all the way to the island on this stuff,” she said. She picked up a couple handfuls of sand from the shore. Sprinkling them in her path, she walked out to join Scrornuck.

"I don't think we can carry enough sand to make a path to the island,” Jape said. “And if we tried, I suspect those machines would just sweep it up."

"Should've brought skates,” Scrornuck said.

"Well, we didn't,” Jape said, sitting on a boulder. “Let me think about it.” He closed his eyes, concentrating on the puzzle.

Scrornuck scratched at the dried crud on his leg. “While you're thinking, I'm going to clean off this crap. Where there's ice, there's water!” Ol’ Red's blade sparkled, chips of ice flew, and the frozen lake beneath their feet quivered as the fibersword opened a hole about two feet across.

Nalia looked at the drab, greenish-black liquid that filled the hole. “Doesn't look all that inviting."

"It's just dark down there.” Tossing boots, belt, sword, sporran and jacket aside, Scrornuck stripped down to his kilt, took a deep breath and jumped in, making a strangely dead splash. The water felt oddly slippery, and as a little leaked past his lips he tasted something sickly-sweet. He saw a blurry circle of greenish light above him, and then his eyes began to burn horribly. As he squeezed them shut, he realized this stuff wasn't water at all. It was some kind of cooling fluid that circulated below the ice. Crap, he thought, kicking and stretching his arms, I'm gonna be even grosser when I get out.

As his hands groped for the edge of the hole, he felt something wrap around his ankle, trying to pull him back down. He struggled to the surface, managing to shout, “Something's got me!” before it pulled him under again.

He opened his eyes, and got a glimpse of tentacles, four or five of them, covered with silvery scales. One had wrapped around his right ankle and drew him steadily toward a round, dark mouth surrounded by bright lights. As the stinging fluid forced him to close his eyes, his left foot hit the edge of the mouth. It felt cold, hard and slippery, more like metal than anything living. His right hand gripped something hard and slippery, and he braced himself against the pull of the tentacle.

Running out of air, seeing colored spots before his tightly shut eyes, he fought the urge to breathe as desperately as he fought the lake monster. A second tentacle wrapped around his right wrist, yanking it from its tenuous hold, and he was pulled into darkness. His ears popped painfully as a sudden, deafening blast of cold air forced the fluid away. He took a cautious breath and opened his eyes to find he was not in the stomach of a monster, but inside a transparent plastic bubble surrounded by machinery. Through the cloudy green liquid of the lake he could see the hole he'd made, framing the blurred faces of Jape and Nalia. He wondered if they could see him.

He pounded on the hard plastic of the bubble, struggling to escape. The machine's tentacles methodically deposited new ice around the edges of the hole until it was closed. Then the machine turned and began moving in what seemed like a purposeful manner. Scrornuck couldn't tell for sure where the machine was headed, but he suspected it was taking him to the island.

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After a long, cold journey beneath the ice, the machine passed through a dark tunnel, surfaced in a small, sunlit lagoon, and docked against a concrete pier. The plastic bubble opened and Scrornuck climbed out. Shivering badly and dripping sticky green refrigerant, he hauled himself up a short ladder, out of the cold fog that clung to the lagoon's surface, and sprawled on the pier, letting the sun warm him.

He simply lay there, not entirely awake, until the worst of his chill had passed. Then he rolled onto his back and saw a bright-red light flashing, directly overhead, atop a tall metal antenna tower. Funny, he thought, why didn't we see that last night? He got to his feet and made his way down the pier to a small brick building whose flat roof bristled with antennas and camera mounts. The door protested, but with some effort it opened, revealing a dark office about thirty feet square. Panels in the ceiling lit up as he stepped inside. The lights illuminated a small desk, a few swivel chairs, and two small couches whose cushions were still wrapped in plastic. A moment later, video screens covering one wall flickered to life, displaying surveillance-camera views of the crater.

Jape's not kidding, he thought, these guys built stuff to last. This gave him an idea, and after a brief search, he found a small, windowless bathroom. He tried the sink's spigot. It resisted. He tried a little harder, and with a loud creak the handle turned. Air hissed from the faucet for several seconds, followed by a splash of rusty brown mud, then glorious, clear water. He drank his fill, stripped off his filthy kilt and happily rinsed away the dragon-gore, refrigerant and blood.

He was midway through rinsing the crud from his kilt when he heard voices and the sound of feet outside—many feet. Bad, he thought, quickly wrapping the kilt around his waist. Not wanting to be trapped in the bathroom, he hurried back into the main office, searching for something he might use as a weapon. Finding a coat rack that would make a serviceable club, he retreated onto the pier and waited.

The wait was short. Within a minute the door swing open and a dozen soldiers marched onto the pier. All had their swords drawn, and most were wearing the plastic armor he'd seen at the Executive Palace.
Worse.

The group's leader wore no helmet, and Scrornuck recognized her as the woman who'd stood next to the Mayor at the parade that kicked off the Fortnight of Sacrifice. She wasn't just a Mayoral Guard—she was the Captain of all the Guards. And while she'd been a brunette rather than a blonde Friday night at Syb's, he quickly identified her as Tremmlowe's bodyguard, the third member of the assassination team.
Much worse.

"Praise be to the Friendly Dragon!” she intoned. “He has led us directly to the blasphemer!” She pointed to the light atop the antenna tower, and then to the big dragon tattoo on Scrornuck's chest. “And behold the obscenity this fiend flaunts in the sight of the mighty Spafu!” The soldiers murmured in angry agreement. She made a small gesture, and they advanced, three abreast, swords drawn.

Scrornuck swung his makeshift club, tripping one of his attackers and knocking the other two into the slimy green pond. “I should have killed you Friday night,” he snarled. “But you looked so cute with that red bandanna around your neck and your tongue up the Mayor's..."

"Enough!” she bellowed. “In the name of Spafu, be silent!"

"I am up to
here
with that stuffed lizard!” He forced the next trio of soldiers back with a sudden thrust of the coat-rack.

"Watch your tongue, abomination! I know what you are—the priests have warned us to be vigilant for Dizzer-demons like you!” Her back straightened and pride crept into her voice. “I am the sixth Captain of the Mayoral Guards, and by the bones of my father before me and my grandmother before him, I will protect our fair city and our sacred way of life!"

"Save the speech for somebody who can vote!” Scrornuck slipped the hook of the coat-rack between one soldier's legs and sent him sprawling.

"Enjoy the sarcasm while you can. You're trapped, and when we've captured you, we have plans. Do you recognize this?” She held up the long, curved knife decorated with images of the Friendly Dragon. For an instant the sun reflected off the blade, straight into his eyes. In that instant the two soldiers that he'd knocked into the lagoon crawled up the edge of the pier and grabbed his legs. All three went down in a squirming pile, and in seconds the rest of the soldiers were upon him.

The Servants of Spafu repaid Scrornuck for Thursday night, beating the crap out of him before dragging him into the office and using big plastic cable-ties to secure his wrists and ankles to a swivel chair. His stomach hurt, his left eye was swollen half-shut, blood trickled from his nose, and the wounds the dragon had left in his legs itched fiendishly.

The Captain examined Scrornuck as if inspecting something she'd found under a rock. “Would you like to know what I'm going to do with you, demon?"

"You're going to bring me a cup of hot cocoa?” Scrornuck said hopefully. The office's thermostat was set for skaters, not a man wearing only a soaking-wet kilt, and he was again on the verge of shivering.

"Disrespectful to the end,” she said. “Well, you'll be quite warm soon enough.” She paced nervously, speaking as much to herself as to her prisoner. “After you beat up the Servants, I wondered why the great Spafu did not punish you. And after that exhibition in the Square, I wondered why he did not simply strike you down with a lightning bolt.” She came closer, fondling the ornate knife. “In time, I realized that the Dragon has granted me the honor of being the instrument of his justice. Let me tell you what I'm going to do with you, Dizzer. The Servants are right: we have become cheap and lazy in our offerings. Spafu deserves a real sacrifice, and I'm going to give it to him."

"Sorry,” Scrornuck said smugly, “I didn't bring my boots."

"We shall find them,” she said, “but I have something greater in mind. I'm going to take you back to the Temple, and there I'll skin you alive and offer that—that
thing
on your chest from the High Altar."

Involuntarily, he flinched. “I thought Taupeaquaahns don't harm guests."

"You're no Guest, Dizzer. I doubt you're even human. Lord Draggott warned me that you and your master would be coming, false ‘guests’ intent on overthrowing everything we hold sacred..."

"Draggott, Draggott, Draggott,” Scrornuck spat irritably. “Who the hell is this Draggott, anyway?"

She struck him in the face, hard. “He is my leader, the one who appeared among the Standing Stones and brought warning of the coming dangers. He taught us to go beyond the first-blood-drawn rule, to kill those who threaten our holy Temple and our sacred way of life..."

"He taught you to kill?"

"Yes, he gave us that gift. He taught us who we really are, and whom we are to serve.” Her voice dropped to a reverent near-whisper. “He is the True Guest."

Time passed. The Captain and her soldiers studied the video screens, looking for some sign of the precious boots, but the displays showed only dark cliffs towering above the vast expanse of blue-white ice, with no movement beyond the steady back-and-forth of the ice-grooming machines.

More time passed. The Captain lost her battle to keep from taking the Friendly Dragon's name in vain as her search continued to find nothing. Scrornuck lost his battle to keep from shivering. The two soldiers guarding him lost their battle with boredom and shifted about distractedly.

What's that?
He noticed something decidedly out of the ordinary on one of the screens. The ice-grooming machines made their steady rounds, back and forth, back and forth—except for one, which pursued a straight, purposeful path from the far rim directly toward the island. For the next several minutes he watched the screen out of the corner of his eye. The machine continued on its course, and soon he saw it had passengers: Jape and Nalia, hanging on to its backside and gliding along behind it.

"What's that?” a soldier murmured, finally noticing the errant machine.

"What's what?” the Captain said, irritated. “Did you find the boots?"

"No, but I think you should see this."

Scrornuck decided it was time for a distraction. While he was tightly secured to the chair by the two big cable-ties, he'd found he could move his feet enough to make the chair swivel and even roll a bit on its casters. Howling a loud battle-cry, he spun the chair around, slapping its back against one of the guards. The guard yelped, and several other guards jumped to grab Scrornuck's arms and legs.

Hands on hips, the screens forgotten, the Captain stalked over to confront her prisoner. “So, you think you can get away?"

"Prisoner's first duty,” Scrornuck said. Carefully keeping his gaze on her, he sneaked a glance at the monitor. Jape and Nalia were getting closer, maybe fifty feet from shore.

The Captain pulled the long, curved knife from her belt and ran a finger along the blade as she thought aloud. “As the Dragon flames, I don't trust this Dizzer. I don't trust it at all.” Reaching her decision, she stared straight into his eyes and smiled a most unfriendly smile. “It's not worth the risk to keep you alive, demon. The mighty Spafu is going to receive his sacrifice—right here, right now."

One of the soldiers objected. “The Exalted Rosaiah has said that sacrifices may only be offered at the Temple..."

"That pompous fool wouldn't know a real sacrifice if it bit his overstuffed behind!” She waved her arm toward two men that Scrornuck recognized as Servants of Spafu. “You two! Gather wood and build an altar!"

"Yes, Captain!” They saluted and hurried outside.

"Now, demon,” she said softly, “you are going to learn what it means to show disrespect to the mighty Dragon."

"Why don't you stuff that toy lizard up your—” She smacked him hard across the face before he could complete his suggestion, but the remark served its purpose. All eyes were on Scrornuck and the Captain, and not on the video screen that showed Jape and Nalia running the machine aground and scrambling up the beach. Hurry up, guys, he thought, this is gonna get real ugly soon.

"Hold him tightly,” the Captain said to the guards pinning Scrornuck to the chair. Slowly, tentatively, she rested the knife's point just above the dragon's left wingtip. Scrornuck winced as she pressed, making a small cut. He risked a quick glance at the screen, and saw Jape and Nalia finally leaving the camera's view. C'mon, he thought, get yourselves up here!