Panting, he managed to gather enough breath to shout at his companion “What did you do? . . Why do you keep . . . doing stupid things?”
“It wasn’t stupid,” the shorter wiry man sprinting ahead of him hollered back. “Every time I tell people that . . . I’m a mage . . . they want a demonstration. How should I have known I’d start a fire?”
“That’s what you were trying to do!”
“I didn’t mean for it to burn the village down! Just a little spark . . .”
“You don’t think that’s stupid!” the taller man screamed. He wore only light armor, overly cautious traveler grade, but it was still hampering his movement. Glancing behind to see if the villagers were maintaining the chase, he saw they were stopped, standing dejectedly and diminishing as he and his companion increased their distance. Either the peasants had given up the pursuit - heading back to rebuild home - or danger stalked the gravel road ahead.
“Hold!” he called out to his quicker friend. He halted his own movement, massaged his sweating forehead and ran his fingers through his oily brown hair. He fought to compose his breath.
“Why?” the mage said, though he obeyed the command. Mostly due to his total lack of armor and weapons, he was not panting as hard. He wore only a hide tunic, patched cloth pants, and a short sky blue cloak
“They’ve stopped. We have to be careful we don’t run right into a trap.” The armored man pulled his long sword from its sheath concealed on his back by his red cloak. He looked suspiciously out at the flat grasslands ahead. The scattered starving trees were too few to hide a force of troublesome size. He sniffed the air, following one of his superstitious tenets. Barely smelling the smoke from the fire flaming next to him back at the village, he could not have seriously expected to catch the scents of potential enemies on the path ahead.
“Want me to use a foe detection spell?” the mage asked enthusiastically.
“No, you’re liable to send up a flare telling them were we are instead.”
“Aw, come on Gren, you know I won’t.”
Gren, who by all rights should have been a knight in the employ of an illustrious lord, cursed his ill fortune and told his rarely welcome companion while staring out at the landscape in search of impending doom “listen, Fieren, you blasted magician sent by the eleven hells to torment me - your usefulness is limited to when the enemy is within sight. Any other time you are tempted to use your often wasted gift, remind yourself that I may at any time decide that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, and leave you to deal with this harsh, unforgiving world by your young, inexperienced self. It is only because of the astounding, and perhaps unfortunate, goodness of my heart that I haven’t done this already.”
“There’s nobody around. We’re safe.”
Gren wheeled around with full battle swiftness, abandoning his search and fixing laser eyes on Fieren. The young mage held out a talisman he had charmed, showing Gren how it glowed blue, evidently meaning that their surroundings were free from foes. His grin glowed, lit by the setting sun.
“Why you little . . . I told you not to do it, and you did it anyway.”
“I forgot all about the talisman when I asked you,” Fieren explained, “and you only told me not to cast a spell. I decided that I probably wouldn’t need your permission for the talisman, since it can’t backfire or anything. Come to think of it, I don’t think I need your permission to do spells, either. Come to think of it, if I had to ask you every time I had to do a spell, you’d be dead right now.”
“Shut up!” Gren growled. “Fine. We have established that the enemy has given up the chase. Now, we head to Jusdran. Any objections?” Gren asked, fully expecting none.
“Why Jusdran?”
Gren’s patience was usually at its best when working with his ego bloated. With his ego flayed, his patience had decided to quit for the night. “Food. Work. Both can be found at the Kantha Breath Inn of Jusdran. Follow.”
Gren led without another word, and Fieren understood the futility of suggesting that the inn at Kallen had better food. Gren, Fieren knew, antagonized seafood. During their only beachfront job, Gren had crushed every creature heading onto land from the sea, declaring them too presumptuous to live. Fieren failed to understand the rather obtuse message meant for him imbedded in Gren’s irrational actions.
Neither was especially fond of the other’s company, though they overstated their hatred of it, making an elaborate display. Their association was simply reflective of Gren’s good business sense. A mercenary offering his services alone was a bad sell. Most people in need of mercenaries hired out from one of the large, roving war bands. The world was full of warriors, and people with serious business to attend to needed to be sure of the credentials of their hirelings. Gren, for his part, despised the hierarchy in the war bands, which he felt contradicted the mercenary spirit. The problem for Fieren and his fellow independent mages was similar. Without support from a major university, he could hardly expect to wrest any work from the competition. Fieren had no ideological reason to spurn the universities, but had neither the money nor the connections to gain admittance.
Mostly because of clashes in method and temperament, their warrior-mage team was unique. Gren and Fieren managed to suppress the traditional antagonism well enough to function. For their efforts, they were rewarded with job offers and growing local fame. Of course, a few kinks still had to be worked out.
“Why don’t I just light a fire to show you how magical I am?” Gren mumbled to himself on the sunset stained stone road to Jusdran. They would have to work to make sure their infamy did not catch up to their fame. Still, publicity was publicity. Eventually, Gren’s mood turned the other way. As they neared Jusdran, he muttered, “Blasted villagers. Sure, make the whole place out of firewood and cover the ground in flammable straw. Then, just to make it easier for the fire to spread, make sure all the houses and stores share walls. Makes the construction simpler and cheaper, sure. How they light a candle with good conscience, though, I don’t know.”
Jusdran was a merchant town, and on market days peasants flowed in from the countryside to buy wares. Today, though, only illegitimate or spontaneous business was taking place. Gren looked for the latter, but would not begrudge the former. It was Fieren who stood as the moralizing force between the two, but he, like everyone else on Asparis, had his price: usually, the price to bribe a mage to impart an advanced spell. Whatever else could be said of Fieren, he was an enthusiastic scholar.
The houses and stores of the town were built of sensible brick. Chimneys proudly proved that the residents had reached the modern era, complete with tamed fire and flame-retardant flooring. While the occasional monster did stray in, most of the townspeople felt safe walking about at night, and dozens were out and about when the two adventurers arrived. The hub of activity, the Kantha Breath Inn served the best food within a week’s journey, and epitomized the town’s cultural advancement through its cooking. Spices, made available by merchants, allowed for the perfection of exotic delicacies. The only food they did not serve was of the variety that stared at you while being consumed. Gren was all the more grateful.
They reached the inn a half hour after sunset. With four floors of rooms, it was the tallest brick building in town. The din inside, punctuated with the occasional drunken ditty, made it pointless for the owner to hire musicians. Spices tinged the air, uplifting the breather. Bare wooden tables and chairs were arrayed haphazardly, as necessity demanded. Only the inviting cushioned booths remained in their place, attached to the back wall – the business wall. With most of the inn’s patrons clustered a tight group, Gren had no trouble finding an unoccupied booth in the corner most distant from the commotion that drew the attention of the regular customers. There, he set himself in a conspicuously quiet, roguishly heroic pose – complete with boots on the table - designed to attract the irregular customer looking for hirelings. Fieren tried desperately to hail a waitress to order his meal. He left business matters to Gren, who demanded sole possession of that role.
Before Fieren could attract a waitress, a potential employer already approached their booth. Business before dinner tonight, but Fieren was not too disappointed. The villagers had fed them fairly well before he repaid their hospitality by turning their home into ashes. He worked up an appetite during the run, but the white-haired gentleman now nearing looked interesting enough to justify delaying the meal.
The word “gentleman” fit this man as well as it could fit anyone so far from the castle cities. He was cleanly shaven - more than Gren could manage, and more than most thought to bother with. Courtly clothing fit the man well – the mark of a personal tailor. The colors were the clincher, though. Royal colors were absent, but practically every other color available had been incorporated into the elaborate garb. The effect was blindingly hilarious. Only a gentleman would have the money to afford such nonsense and the gall to wear it.
Otherwise, the man looked like the type Gren would least likely cross. Aristocratically plump, he maintained a steady stride. His face was piercingly serious. His eyes were methodical. A gentleman’s education resided behind those eyes; he was unaccustomed to being fooled.
Gren stood to greet the man to the booth. Fieren remained seated, but slid over to give the stranger space. The gentleman bowed and introduced himself. “Ourod Ingac Helveti.” He could even afford three names.
“Gren, warrior of Shintaris. This is Fieren, mage of Shintaris.”
Ourod slid into the seat next to Fieren with the fluttering hand gestures and careful clothing adjustments required for show at court. Gren sat himself down.
“A mage. Interesting. And to have two people from so long a way as Shintaris is rare,” Ourod opened with honest curiousity.
“The world grows smaller. All Asparis is within our reach these days. If you’d please, the times change too quickly to waste any, so let’s skip pleasantries and move right to what you’re looking for. A man of your ability must have serious need if he comes so far away from the castle to find hirelings,” Gren said with supreme and enviable confidence. Fieren’s attention wandered through the menus in his mind.
“Yes, but it should not be more than you can handle. Simple monster elimination.”
Gren’s eyebrows lifted, a real mechanical marvel considering their forest density. “What kind of monster? Not that it matters – we can deal with anything. Just like to know what we’ll be up against to set the price.”
Ourod’s brows furrowed. “It’s quite large. It crushes houses beneath its step.”
“Fiery breath?”
“Like the sun. Spiked tail, teeth as long as a man protruding from the jaw, eyes that alone could kill, and skin strong as the legendary armor of Guraldun Asparii. The whole package, really.”
“Can it fly?” Gren asked, interested more than afraid. Fieren was crowing over the proceedings, no longer lost in daydreams. He specialized in paralyzing the bigger beasts for Gren, who would finish them off.
“No,” Ourod spoke with a thankful breath. “But it doesn’t normally need to. It is obsessed with a particular village in my lord’s domain. It terrorizes the citizens, and our troops cannot get near to restore order. Many citizens have taken the opportunity to turn rebel and loot the place. It is because the beast does not trouble a larger area that it is not well known. The village is Bunalaris. Will you accept this commission?”
Ourod ended knowing full well what Gren’s reply would be. “What can you pay us if we kill the bugger?”
“I can offer five hundred half-weight gold coins. That should be enough, yes?”
Fieren’s jaw collapsed like the walls of Karis. Gren fought a fierce battle against jubilant panic, desperate not to reply with the voice of a mouse. He bolstered his aloof outward composure. “It’s not enough.”
Ourod’s entire body fell, as had the lord of Karis when he was literally kicked out of his ivory tower. Ourod slouched into the next question. “Why?”
“First tell me why you come to us instead of all the war bands you lords favor,” Gren said shrewdly, claiming the upper hand with practiced ease.
Ourod debated what he would tell the warrior and mage. The debate played out on his face, and Gren realized the man was not as masterful as he had first been appraised. “Well, it’s like this. The monster has a charm on him that makes it impossible for the lord’s men or an organized war band to approach it. I’m afraid I can’t tell you the details of the charm. However, we believe mercenaries like you should be able to overcome the spell and sneak up on the creature. The question is whether you can claim victory against the beast itself, even minus the magic. Needless to say, there will be little payment in advance.”
“Our price should be placed fairly high, wouldn’t you say so, Fieren?” Fieren nodded enthusiastically. That was typically the extent of his dialogue during negotiations.
“I don’t know how much higher I can go.”
“Yes, you do.”
Ourod did. “Six hundred half-weight, and a superb kantha. I assume a knightly sort like you will have been trained to ride?”
“I’ve ridden a kantha a few times,” Gren lied defensively, so badly that Fieren reddened, embarrassed. “But I’ve also seen a few vicious kantha trades in my day. ‘Kantha salesmen are not to be trusted,’ doesn’t the old proverb go?”
Ourod was abashed. “I assure you that this kantha, Pira by name, is the best in the world. It has a limited speaking ability unmatched by any animal on Asparis. Its white fur is soft as threads of the finest fabric, and cushions the rider so that no riding gear is needed. During any movement, its back remains completely level, and it can make spectacular leaps. With teeth that only beasts such as the one you will face can surpass, it is a weapon that can rend any human opponent. Out of battle, it is gentle as a courtly lady. Its value is only matched by the value of the village you are being sent to save. As you might tell, I would have this kantha as my own, if that were possible”
“Then why is your lord so willing to part with it?”
Ourod’s face colored to match fragments of his clothing. “My lord is . . . slightly over the weight that this kantha can bear,” he said, then mumbled, “in fact, more than any beast barring the one you will face could carry safely. I do not envy his litter bearers.”
Fieren sniggered. Gren sustained a dominant and confident grin. “Done, if you will give us the kantha in advance so that I might know the true value of it, and how honorable your lord is. It might come in useful in the battle. If it falls, consider it a sacrifice to the salvation of a village you give equal worth to,” the warrior said, more elaborately than he intended. He wondered whether courtly ways were contagious.
“Agreed. I will bring Pira in the morning. Bunalaris sits a twelve hours’ walk down the southeast road out of this town. My lord will be pleased - we did not expect to find independent mercenaries so quickly. Defeat the beast, and our forces will be present to restore the village, and they will carry your reward. May you live richly afterwards.”
“As will you, for your devoted service to your lord,” Gren replied.
Ourod rose and the two adventurers followed in suit. Gren locked arms with Ourod to seal the agreement, and the gentleman left their presence.
“Go to the Kantha Breath Inn, get a free kantha. This is the way it ought to be,” Gren mused, looking at Pira with awed satisfaction. “Ever since I was young, I’ve wanted a kantha, but my father was a nutcase. He preferred to walk, and said that forcing an even remotely intelligent being to carry you around was evil. I said if it’ll take you on board, go ahead, but he wouldn’t hear about it. Now, I’ve got one, and what a beauty!”
“We’ve got one,” Fieren yawned. It was early morning, and he was a slug when he had to get out of a real bed. Having to squint to block out the rays of the distant sun did not encourage him to keep his eyes, either.
Gren ignored him completely, continuing with his unfulfilled youth. “This is a good model kantha, too – the best breeding. I can tell. I read a codex on kantha breeding all too long ago.” Then he snapped out of the reverie. “We need to get going. I don’t want to have to fight the thing after sundown, and I doubt we’ll get safe room and board at the village while we wait out the night.”
Gren decided that, rather than risk looking like a fool trying to mount the kantha, it would be best to lead Pira to their destination instead of riding her. As they started out, though, Fieren was tentative. Gren noticed the imbalance in his step.
“What? You finally realize how horrible the burning of that village was?”
Fieren glanced at Gren with a spacey solemn stare. “No. I mean, it was horrible, but they’ll rebuild. I was just feeling a bit . . . wrong somehow. I think that this deal is sour.”
“Then stop thinking,” Gren suggested, because in dim, forgotten recesses of his mind he was developing similar thoughts. His brain’s primary control valve decided that the thoughts were pre-battle anxiety, and did not let them through. A message was sent to Gren’s mouth, ordering it to prevent Fieren from disrupting the valve’s ability to function.
“But it shouldn’t work out that way, should it? It’s more wrong than usual. There’s something up ahead that I don’t think we can face.”
Gren stopped his progress and rounded on Fieren. “We kill bad things,” he said with emphasis on every word. “It is our job. Maybe we haven’t faced something like this before, but it’s pretty odd for us to face the same thing twice anyway. If the beast was something the average peasant could handle, they wouldn’t need us, would they?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.” Gren concluded, but the thought was out in the open. Why was the thing given protection from the lord’s men and war bands? Was it because anything less than an army could not be expected to defeat it? Who would want to protect the thing at all? Ourod had said that it was given that gift, so it wasn’t innately magical. Ourod and his lord obviously thought that a warrior and a mage could handle it - unless, of course, it was a deathtrap. But why would a lord have such a grudge against them. Even Fieren’s unintentional razing of a village would not be enough to incite the animosity of a lord. Or could Ourod have lied about something else?
And what of this Bunalaris? Villages usually had monosyllabic names bearing strange resemblance to words for fecal matter, or no name at all. Bunalaris was more like the name of a town, or even a city. Gren cursed his woeful lack of political and geographical knowledge. He could be absolutely certain of only one thing: Bunalaris did not have an inn of any renown, and hospitality there would not include fine cuisine. The questions piled up, but Gren’s mind continued to insist that not one really mattered. All would be revealed once they reached Bunalaris. Fieren continued to move with a worried stride.
Once Bunalaris came into view, Gren began agreeing that things were definitely wrong. It was a town, not a village. By no stretch of the imagination was it a village. It was every bit the town that Jusdran was, perhaps more so. It had brick buildings – always a good start - wide avenues, and a few hundred households. But no decent inn?
“That village is wrong,” Fieren voiced simply.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Gren admitted. “And where’s the beast?”
“If I were a beast,” Fieren said with a trifle more amusement than he felt, “I’d probably be near that big building there, that hall at the center. Even if it could fill a courtyard, that building could hide it from us if it was behind it. Beasts like being at the center of things, don’t they?”
“The scholar at work, eh Fieren?” he said, trying and failing to lighten the mood. He soured it more by noting, “There doesn’t seem to be much death and destruction. Your average dignified monster leaves a mess at every corner.” Fieren was a nervous rock, wholly stone-faced. Gren knew that his own stomach had far surpassed the agitation of mere battle anxiety. Still, Gren’s mind persisted in repeating that this fear was foolishness unbecoming of a warrior.
They proceeded onward. Nothing else could be done. Living with the knowledge that they turned away from this fight would be impossible and humiliating - such a life denied the one that they had so far lived. Mercenaries who did not even try to fulfill a mission could not remain mercenaries, a fact written clearly in their consciousness. They had to carry on.
“Maybe there isn’t even a monster,” Fieren said half-heartedly. “Like you said, no death and destruction, maybe this is all a big mistake. That would explain why the whole situation seems so wrong.” As he finished, almost in answer to his words, an almighty roar sounded from the center of Bunalaris. Like a groan from nature itself, it was all encompassing, primal, deep as dirt, and rich with emotion. As with all thunderous sounds, the earth shook in sympathy.
“I think that answers that question,” Fieren decided. “Why don’t we hurry up and get this over with? The wait’s killing us before we even see the beast.”
Gren nodded gravely. They rushed as swiftly as their misgivings allowed – not much faster at all. Pira the kantha let out a low groan of her own, sensing the tension of her companions. Gren patted its fur to reassure it. They descended the hill that overlooked the town and spotted a few houses on the outskirts. Half a dozen elderly citizens were sitting idly in chairs on their porches, preparing to enjoy the sunset. Gren drew near them uneasily, unable to tell whether their grimaces were directed at him, or at the world in general.
“Have any of you seen a monster around here? Perhaps the one that made that huge roar?” he asked a white-haired shriveled couple – though by the way they were sitting, they might have been siblings.
The man answered in a raspy voice “What roar?” and Gren sensed trouble, though not of the violent type.
“Don’t play stupid.”
“If I tell you something, what are you going to do? You some kind of monster killer?” the elderly gent sputtered accusingly.
Gren, who had never heard ‘monster killer’ spoken in any but a glowing tone, turned hostile. “As a matter of fact, yes. There’s one to be exterminated here, and I intend to do the job. Only a monster protects a monster – remember that. If you’re some sort of demon, stick around. I’ll come back for you. If you’re not, you should be helping me, thanking the universe that I was sent to save you. Now, what do you know?”
“I know that you have no idea what you’re walking into.”
“Then why don’t you give me one?”
The elderly man was more intent on arguing further than providing explanation, but his wife piped in, responding to Gren’s last question with more helpful words. “It protects us from the evil lord. This is our land. He wants to impose his taxes on us – but he can’t,” she spoke with high-pitched pride, almost as if the lord was standing in front of her and she was taunting him directly. She was absolutely secure, and not the least bit angry with the visitors. What she had was an unlimited store of acidic spittle for the face of the evil lord’s face once his final fall came. “The Guardian protects our people. You will not kill the guardian. You’re not so blind.”
“I doubt you could if you tried,” the man challenged. He was not as certain of their security, and was prepared to defend it with his own life, feeble though that defense might be.
Gren and Fieren had heard all that they needed to hear. They backed away, and then continued into the town itself. Neither felt like discussing things, but they had to. The situation had changed critically. A few people were about, so they tried to keep their voices down. If they let their intentions be known too widely, the entire town was liable to rise up against them.
“Just so you know,” Gren whispered, “I blame you.”
“At least that much is normal. So, how do you figure it?”
“I figure they’re all a bunch of loons. A benevolent beast? Next you’ll be trying to convince me that the moon’s the sun and the sun’s the moon. I can tell light from dark.”
“It’s possible,” Fieren reasoned. “Us mages conjure familiars to protect us all the time. I don’t do it because they always look so scary. Maybe this thing is just a huge familiar a great mage told to protect Bunalaris a long time ago.”
“It explains a lot – like why there aren’t any good inns here; why I’ve never heard of this place. Who’d want to stick around when the place it protected by a nightmare?”
Fieren considered the rhetorical question seriously. “I don’t know. I’d feel very safe having a creature like that watching over my town. No one’d be likely to mess with us, would they? Wonder if it has a name.”
Gren growled impatiently. “Snap out of it. We’re trying to mess with them, nimrod. Do I really have to remind you? We’re supposed to kill the thing. That’s why we’re here.”
“We’re not going to go through with it, are we? Ourod didn’t tell us the truth, so we can back out of this honorably. It won’t hurt our reputation or anything. We’ve been played. The right thing to do would be to back out,” Fieren insisted, struggling to keep his voice down. Gren was more powerful when speaking softly, so he was at a vocal disadvantage. “If there was a man wanted to commit a murder and tried to hire us to do it, would you take the job? Would you just think that someone was bound to take the job, so why not you? It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it?”
“You are talking nonsense. It’s not the same thing,” the warrior explained. Before Fieren could ask the obvious follow-up question, Gren continued, “and the reason why it’s not the same thing is that this is a beast. Beasts attack our towns – my town, in fact, when I was young. A whole pack of them attacked, and we didn’t even have a town guard or anything. They wrecked our buildings and killed hundreds, just in the one day. I still remember all the screaming. Body parts, too. They’re very messy when they eat. It was right at dawn, too, so we woke up to a nightmare. I do it for the money, but I don’t forget what it’s like to be on the other side of the equation – as the victim.
“Maybe you think this one’s different. Well, let me tell you, I’ve never heard of a nice monster. Even if this one’s the first, I say there’s nothing keeping him that way. If he suddenly decides to get ticked off with any of us, kiss goodbye to life. I’d rather go in and take him out on my own terms. These people need to be self-sufficient to be free, anyway. ‘Long as they live under a beast’s protection, they aren’t free.”
“But that’s not why we were sent. We were told to get rid of it because this lord wants to send in his people to do harm.”
The two adventurers were nearing the hall at the center of town. The townspeople must have guessed their purpose, because they were being followed by a flock that was growing larger. The mob kept a respectful distance behind, and did not look intent on closing in.
“Forget the lord. This is not about the lord. We don’t even know what his name is, much less what he really wants to do. The only way this one protects this town is if there’s a whole lot of magic preventing it from destroying it. All monsters are the same – they only understand violence. So, I’m going to talk to it in the only language it understands.”
Fieren shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t do it. I suppose that’s all I’m saying. It’s like the same kind of mistake as setting fire in that village. You don’t think so, I know, but that’s the way it is for me. I can’t explain it as well as you can. Maybe it’s just instinct.”
Gren, who had a great respect for instinct, stood in the jungle of possibilities before him with about as much faith about his chosen course as a newborn baby would have. “Will you stop me if I decide to fight?”
Fieren thought hard for a moment, but considered a real struggle against Gren ridiculous. “No, but I won’t fight the guardian, and I think you shouldn’t either. But it’s up to you, if you want to try to kill it. Without my magic, I can’t see how you expect to. Even with it, we would have needed surprise, and I don’t think we’ll get it. The villagers will have it warned”
The time to retort was not afforded to Gren as they rounded the hall to see what was behind it. The front paw of the creature became visible. The face, Gren had expected to be menacing and outright frightening. The paw had no right to be startling but with a length was equal to his height, claws that rivaled his torso, and dried blood tattooing it, it was. Gren was amazed that it was furry rather than scaly. Fur, being associated with cute-and-cuddly creatures like kanthas, had confused a bloodied appendage.
The head of the creature did not take long to show itself, though Fieren had to nudge Gren and point to get the warrior to look up at it. Gren had been focused with grim determination on the paw, as if it alone was the threat that he faced. The attitude of the head – upright, extended – confirmed that the beast was ready for the fight. It had a hunting animals’ snout, covered in brown fur like its paw. The teeth did, indeed, extend painfully below the jaw. Fieren wondered how, with fur instead of scales, the creature could have skin like armor, but then reasoned that its skin would be thicker than the length of Gren’s sword. Gren surveyed the body of the beast for a weak-spot.
Fieren did as well, but he asked Gren, “still want to?”
“Have to.”
The rest of the guardian’s body was as Ourod had advertised, and looked like nature’s repository for spare parts. In a way, it looked like a viciously armed brown kantha, except that its face was clearly discernable. Its eyes were green, and looked at the two adventurers and the villagers behind them interestedly. Intelligence flashed behind those eyes. Gren failed to acknowledge it, with half his mind focusing on the reward money and the other half alight with the intuitive revulsion of monsters. Monsters could not think. They only understood violence. They killed for pleasure. They were everything we were not. The future of the world depended on the ability of the sentient Asparii to combat the attempts of the forces of chaos and anarchy to overrun the land.
“Hello,” the guardian said in an earth quaking voice. Though it was difficult to tell through the sheer volume of it, Fieren heard a tone of amusement. “What, may I ask, are you doing in my city?”
The monster emerged into full view. It adjusts itself to face them. Its movements send shockwaves to toss Gren’s hair. The warrior stepped forward to confront the being. Fieren admired his bravery while condemning his persistence.
“I, Gren, warrior of Shintaris, am here to rid the world of your presence.”
“Really?” the amusement was unmistakable now. Gren was not shaking as much as he should have been, having steeled himself for battle. If the guardian sighed heavily at him, though, Gren knew the blast of wind would make his feet fly from under him. “Why would you do that? You are no army man, or you would be dead already.”
“I have been tasked by the lord of this land to eliminate the peril your existence causes his men.”
“Ah! So he finally found a way around the injunction on me. He was quite obstinate. He kept sending his troops when I had already informed him that I would immediately attack, that I am required by a charm to immediately attack them. Trust me, I take no pleasure in it. I will also take no pleasure in squishing you, if you insist on it. I can’t imagine why you would insist on it, though.”
“I need not answer to a beast. Your kind deserves no mercy. Prepare to fight.”
“Sorry about this,” Fieren said. “He’s having a bad day, I think. Please don’t hurt him”
Gren twitched. The voice reminded him that he lacked Fieren’s magic. This was the first time he was facing an opponent of overwhelming power without Fieren’s talents to back him up. He admitted it. He was afraid because that key support was not behind him. But he had to get over it. He had to press on.
“I’m not having a bad day,” Gren countered. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I doubt that,” the beast said, “and I will give you a bad day if you do not yet have one.”
A quip. Wit. The monster was truly intelligent. Something clicked in Gren’s mind. He was not a complete fool, after all. This was not the standard monster – did that mean that it could be really just protect this village? Not having much else to do, and finding himself reluctant to plunge into the fray, he decided to ask.
“Beast, are you forbidden from doing anything else than protecting Bunalaris?”
The guardian shook its head. “I am forbidden from nothing, though I have been tasked to protect this land from all intruding forces - two men not counting as a force, of course. I allowed a close friend to put the spell on me. She is long since dead. Otherwise, I do as I please. It does not please me to kill, in case you are wondering. The townspeople have provided my food for ages. They are quite generous. I have never felt the urge to leave. Any other questions? I quite enjoy talking to visitors that I am not required to kill.”
It was not enough. Gren looked into those green eyes and could not trust them. “Fieren, could you cast a spell, an injunction, that would make sure it couldn’t leave this town?”
“Well . . .” Fieren answered, glancing at the guardian, “yes. It’ll be difficult, but I could. But Gren, I don’t think . . .”
“Nor do I,” the guardian boomed, its figure rising in anger. “How would you like to be trapped, jailed, in the way you described? I have made my sacrifice, and am pleased that it has not cost me as much as I first thought it would, but my service for the sake of your kind is set.”
Seeing the ferocity that the creature was capable of, Gren was once again convinced. “Then we do battle!”
“What! No, Gren!” Fieren panicked, but it was too late. Gren drew his sword and charged at the paw that had originally offended him. The guardian was unconcerned. It lifted its paw. Gren sprinted ahead anyway, now targeting the body of the beast. The guardian used his uplifted paw to swat the warrior away. Gren flew a few feet and slid across the ground as if the dirt was marble. Once the friction halted him, he checked that his spine was still in good order, saw out of the corner of his eyes Fieren looking on disapprovingly, then rose and charged at the monster’s chest.
The guardian did not suffer idiots; it was done playing around. It held its breath and looked like it was savoring its favorite meal. Shouts of awe came from the crowd surrounding the battlefield, and Fieren realized what was about to be released. He dashed to Gren at full speed. The combatants were too fixated on each other to notice his move. The guardian let loose its flaming breath. Gren stopped in mid-stride, wide-eyed and frozen; Fieren tackled him in time, so that they cringed from the intense heat, but sustained no injury apart from bruises on hitting the ground.
Fieren pinned Gren to the dirt, which he would not have been able to do if the warrior had not allowed it. “Now you listen to me,” Fieren sputtered, “’cause I’m not going to save you again. The guardian has won. You’ve no chance against it, and even if you did, you can’t protect this city against the lord’s men. Let the guardian do his job; you can’t do it for him. You get that?”
“Why didn’t you use magic to knock me out of the way?”
“Why didn’t I . . . I forgot. It would’ve taken too long anyway. Now listen. You will not fight the guardian anymore.”
“I won’t fight it anymore. Fine. I get it. Now get off me.”
Fieren shoved him for emphasis. “Are you just telling me you understand, or that you agree to do it?”
“I agree to do it, now get off of me”
“Really?” Fieren asked, dumbfounded. At a loss for words, he had no choice but to back off, allowing Gren to rise. Gren faced the guardian, who had returned to an amused posture, with the patience of one who saw the first village built and feared little in life.
“Guardian,” Gren started, “might I ask advice of one who has seen much?”
The villagers gasped at the turnaround in Gren’s manner. They either thought he had lost his sanity or had some trick up his sleeves. This pleased him. He had no idea what he was doing, but at least he was putting on a good show. A thump announced that Fieren had seated himself back on the ground. He was fighting to understand exactly what was happening.
“Certainly. You have been both brave in fighting and sensible in stopping mid-battle. Rare is the sensibility when the bravery precedes it. You deserve what I can offer.”
“Thank you,” Gren said, shadow passing across his face. Fieren stared on, and understood that shadow more than Gren’s chivalric flourish. “I have worked for years now, thinking that you creatures could not think, or only thought of evil if you could. You seem different. Whether you are or not, I can’t say, but since you could kill me and yet don’t, I’m willing to believe. But, where does that leave me? I mean, how do I know when something I’m sent to kill might end up being intelligent?”
“You cannot,” Guardian said with understanding pity. “It is not for beings to judge one another. However, if I take your purpose correctly, you wonder whether you should continue as you have.”
“That’s right.”
“Then the answer is yes. I defend the defenseless, and I would not deny the same duty to another. Next time, perhaps, you can be more cautious. Is that all?”
Gren nodded. He remained disoriented, but was beginning to appreciate his own tact. “Then go in peace, and I will return to my napping.”
Gren and Fieren left the courtyard of the town hall, with the townspeople parting silently for them. They exited the town quickly, sensing an uncomfortable eeriness about the place. Total silence swamped them, as even Pira the kantha had no inclination to sound off. The kantha had been well trained, keeping its cool throughout. Gren felt glad that he would at least get Pira for his efforts. Advances were strictly nonrefundable.
On the outskirts, the old couple was still on the porch as the last light of the sun faded.
“Ah! Smart ones, were you?” the elderly man shouted to them as soon as they were within sight. “Good for you. All too few of you among young types.”
“I told you, didn’t I,” the woman told her man. “They weren’t blind. Didn’t even think about trying once you saw the guardian, did you?”
“No, I suppose we didn’t,” Gren replied as the passed by.
“Good, good. You’re welcome here anytime.”
Even though it meant sleeping next to the road for the night, Gren decided not to take up the offer. He wanted to put some distance between his mind and the whole mess.
“It’s all your fault, though” he told Fieren. “You’re a stinking know-it-all who couldn’t keep his mouth shut if someone wanted to force a slug down your throat. We could have been rich. I could have taken it on if you hadn’t given me all those silly ideas.”
“I would have like to see you try without my magic. You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Fieren decided without an ounce of sincerity, thankful that they were on the road again.