The Guardian

© 1998 Michael Bishop
All rights reserved.

From where I stood on the ridge, I could see the riders coming and knew that I was not going to make it to safety. Their progress had been faster than I had anticipated, and my destination was too far away for nightfall to save me. Still, I had had a good run and I doubted that any other prisoner could have traveled further or faster than me—Cassander, one-time soldier, corsair, convict and now fugitive.

Don't ask me how I ended up in the mines. I don't wish to discuss the matter. Let us just say that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people present. Whatever happened, I wound up slowly working myself to death on a rock pile in the desert. Which was ten times better than the trek that I had made to reach hell on earth, and a hundred times more desirable than having my back flogged to ribbons for not digging my daily quota. And the bastard of an overseer would have enjoyed every minute of it.

In spite of all that, and unlike the other sods breaking rocks and praying for death, I had some idea about how to escape from the place. You see, I was aware that near our rock pile was a range of mountains called the Spur. Anyone who could make it there would find springs hidden among the crags; and where there is water, there are also plants and animals for food. The mountains were too rugged for all but the most ardent pursuers, so once there I would be safe. As for living in the desert, I had served a term on the Moab frontier, and that says it all. Thus, I gambled that I could make it to the Spur without being recaptured. Once there, I could recuperate and build up my strength for the long march back to civilisation.

It had all rested on reaching the mountains ahead of any pursuit. But now, as I looked back across the sand, I could see that I had lost my bet. Perhaps my disappearance had been noted earlier than I had anticipated. Or maybe the Spur had been farther away from the mines than I had been led to believe. It didn't seem to matter either way. The freedom that I had tasted since leaving the rock pile had been worth every hour, and as for distance, how far is a long way?

As I continued to run across the erg, I scanned the ground for a spot to set an ambush. Even with the element of surprise, I would be lucky to take out even one of the riders before they killed me. Even so, it would be better to go down fighting than be taken alive. The usual punishment for any escapee brought back was being flayed alive in front of his fellows.

It stood there on the ridge rather incongruously, almost as if it was apologising for its existence. But then, who would have expected to find a fort in the middle of nowhere? Fort, did I say? It was little more than a watchtower, and a not particularly substantial one at that. It looked old; time and many sandstorms had eroded its stonework. Nevertheless, it was still possible to see some of the ornate carving that had covered its walls. What had been left were not the strong, powerful shapes one would have expected to have been carved on such a place; hard, martial and daring anyone to assault it. Instead, they were softer, more resilient curves with a touch of elegance and a sense of life and tranquillity that transcended the tower's obvious purpose.

To me, it was like a breath of life. Okay, it was an obvious place to hide or from which to bushwhack any pursuers, so the riders would approach it with caution. On the other hand, if I took a position on the rampart, I ought to be able to hold off them until nightfall. Then, assuming that I was still alive, I could slip over the battlements and head for the Spur now only a few miles away. It was almost perfect, and far more than I could have dreamed for. I had been planning to hide behind a large rock and jump out throwing stones at the riders. Now, this place had appeared from nowhere and suddenly I had a chance to live.

I jogged up the slope to it and walked in through the open entrance, the gate having not withstood the test of time. Once inside, I looked around the small courtyard. Sand crunched under my feet as I walked across it and through the door leading into the base of the tower. In the half-light flooding in from the portal behind me, I saw a spiral staircase. I bounded up it onto the roof and looked across the surrounding countryside. In the distance were five dots coming closer every moment. The riders were still on my trail and pushing hard.

Time was running out and I needed a better weapon than the sword I had taken from the guard whom I had coshed during my escape. Projectiles were what I required, and I knew just where to find them. The stones that the fort had been fashioned out of were large, but I was certain that I could lift and throw them. Moreover, it would only take one to knock a rider from his saddle or to crush a man's head, if thrown true.

I decided to dismantle the battlements overlooking the courtyard and move the blocks from them into position. It was going to be hard work, as I was not in as good a shape as I had once been. Still, there was no mortar holding them together, so it would be relatively easy to shift a few. I took hold of the first one and pulled it toward me. Then I nearly dropped it on my foot. After all, I certainly had not been expecting a tap on the shoulder.

Every warrior of renown will tell you that in some skirmish or other, he moved like greased lightening. Well, compared to me, they would have been old women. I knew that the riders had not reached the fort and there was no one else in the vicinity. Yet, in spite of that, I spun around and drew my sword in the same motion. I was no longer on my own.

He was a big man; over six feet tall and clad in archaic-looking armour that included a helmet with a long horsehair plume. In hands that had been burned almost black by the sun was a wicked-looking two-handed axe with a long shaft bound along its length with bands of bronze. His helmet, breastplate and greaves were also of bronze. The craftsman who had fashioned them had included some of the fanciest moulding that I have ever seen outside the Imperial Guard. Some decorative silver inlay that sparkled in the sun had been carefully inserted into the moulding. Beneath his armour, his body was covered by a sheer white tunic that reached halfway down his thighs.

However, it was not his outfit that said that this was no mountebank but a true fighting man. There was his stance, legs apart and arm muscles tense and ready to swing that lethal weapon. And there were his eyes, looking at me as calm and steady as a rock. They clearly indicated that should the half-starved wretch before him attack, then he would parry any blow before delivering his own—fast, clean and decisive. Here was a man who would, were he facing an entire army, not run but stand and fight to the end. A man who could be slain but not vanquished. One who was nothing less than a total warrior.

For what it was worth, the quivering sword in my hand was little more than a stick. Still, I did not disarm myself; my weapon gave me the courage I needed to challenge him.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Touchy for a ephemeral, aren't we?" he replied. "I am the Guardian of this place, and I am guarding it, of course." Then his eyes took on a vacant look and we stood there in silence for a moment. He continued. "Your name is Cassander. You have escaped from the mines and are heading for the Spur. There are five riders after you and you are planning to ambush them right here at my fort." He smiled malevolently. "Am I right?"

Black magic, indeed! There was no need to reply. Obviously, he could read my mind. Also, there was no point continuing my labours. It was perfectly clear that he wanted them to be terminated immediately. So I made a sign to avert evil and tried to work my way along the rampart to get farther away from him. The Guardian watched me with a look of amusement on his face.

"I am prepared to make a deal with you, ephemeral. When those riders arrive here, they will either kill you or capture you for execution at a later date. Either way, you are dead. However, if you agree to my terms, then I can offer you, for what it is worth, life."

"In exchange for what?" My dry throat croaked a reply.

"Due to a powerful spell, I am bound to this small patch of desert. The magic that ties me here has also made me immortal. For eons I have stood guard, watching the years flow by, and I have had enough. While I am loathe to leave here, I want see more than just sand again. Yet I cannot leave my station unless another takes over. Therefore, I propose that in return for my destroying your pursuers and thus saving your miserable hide, you agree to exchange places with me."

"Why should I do that?" I retorted. "When the riders get here they will find you as well as me. I know what sort of men they are, and I can assure you that they will not hesitate to attack you, too."

The Guardian nodded.

"Ah, but only if they find me, ephemeral." Then his form gradually faded and I was alone on the roof of the tower. For a moment I thought that he had gone for good; then he reappeared, first as a brief outline which gradually filled out until he was fully visible again.

There was no doubt that he had me cold. Life or death. It was that simple. An abandoned fort and a patch of sand might not be much of an existence, but they were better than what my pursuers had planned for me.

"OK," I said. "I agree to your terms."

Two of the riders trotted toward the entrance to the fort while the others rested on the trail. They may have expected to find the fugitive that they had been hunting for the last day or so hiding within its walls. They were certainly not prepared for the apparition that shot out of the open gateway like a bolt of lightning. As I hid behind the battlements, I could not believe what I saw, either.

The Guardian took the lead mount on the nose, his blow shattering its head like a melon struck by a hammer. He did not wait to see the result of the strike, nor did he go for the man on its back. Instead, he continued his charge, sliding down the slope with sand cascading around his feet. As he passed the other animal, his axe flew out backwards, neatly hamstringing it. The maddened creature reared up, causing its rider to lose his saddle and hit the ground. It tried to gallop away on its good legs. However, its progress was ended by a small avalanche that it triggered, and it followed its assailant onto the valley floor.

By now, the other riders had drawn their weapons and were preparing to charge this warrior who had come from nowhere and downed two of their colleagues without a by-your-leave. They did not care who he was. The law of the desert had taken over. Kill or be killed, and to the victor the spoils.

He stood there calmly waiting for them, swaying his body and axe from side to side. I could hear the drumming of the hooves on the packed sand as they closed on him. Then, at the last minute, he leaped aside and downed another horse before despatching its rider with a lazily planted blow.

After they had reined up, his opponents stopped and conferred for a moment. Then they parted company and slowly circled to outflank him. The Guardian stood there, observing every move, turning his head to watch first one, then the other.

Once they were in position, one of the riders issued a promise to him, rich in profanities and interspersed with comments about his parentage. Then the pair spurred their mounts forward and headed straight for him.

Even assuming that his claim to immortality was true, I couldn't see how he would survive the attack. If he tried to take either, then his back would be open to the other's sword blade. While he was no real friend, he did not deserve to go down like that. Yet if he did, then our agreement was ended and I was free to leave. So I crouched there, half praying that he would not fall, half hoping that he would.

At the last moment, just as the riders thought to run him down, he sprang clear with a leap beyond the capacity of any normal man. Then he returned to the fight with another equally powerful bound. Two blows and the animals were down; two more and their riders had joined them.

By now the first rider had recovered enough to see the end of his colleagues. He took one look at the warrior who had struck with such deadly force and impunity, seized a water bottle, and fled. For a moment I thought the Guardian would pursue him, but he declined. Instead, he stood there slowly swinging his axe with one hand on the very end of its long shaft. Open-mouthed, I watched as he let go and the weapon cartwheeled through the air. It flew farther than I believed possible and struck its unsuspecting target between the shoulder blades. The force of the blow sent the body flying forward before it hit the ground and slowly slid back down the slope.

I got up from my position and calmly walked down the stairs to the ground. The time of reckoning had come. I would take the Guardian's place. There was no question of breaking the agreement; what I had just witnessed had put paid to any thought of that. No, my concern was whether I could really fill his shoes. For suddenly the air temperature was no longer a torrid heat. Instead, it had dropped to that of a cool spring morning. For what it was worth, I was now immortal!

By the time I rejoined him, he had finished off the wounded, man and beast alike, and was collecting up their water bottles. He was welcome to them. I would never again thirst until I could find another to take my place ... and that would be when?

He greeted me as I approached with an "All yours now, ...Guardian. Anything that you want know before I go?"

"Yes, two things. First, how can I defend this place looking like this?" I opened my arms and gestured at my lack of a suitable outfit. With the only cover on my scrawny body a loincloth and owning nothing else but a short sword in a grubby scabbard, I felt wanting, to say the least.

"Think paladin," he replied. The instruction triggered a vivid image in my mind. Immediately, my gaunt flesh filled out and muscles that I had never had before appeared on my arms and legs. In my left hand materialised a round shield with a silver spike in the dead centre; in my right, a sword of the finest steel that scintillated in the sun. I could feel a helmet on my head and suspected that it was as fine as the one that graced his. On my chest, back, and legs, I could feel the coolness of newly fashioned armour. No lady's mirror was available, but I knew that I now looked my part.

"If you wish to alter your appearance, just think the change and it will be so. Also, if you do not wish ephemerals like myself to see you, then imagine that we cannot, and you will fade out of our sight." He picked up the bottles, slung them over his shoulder then began to walk towards the Spur.

"And the other thing," I called to him. "What am I supposed to be guarding?"

He turned and smiled enigmatically at me for a moment. Then he continued on his way.

I tried to follow him for a while, but after a short distance I discovered that I could no longer do so. I desperately wanted to, mentally, but my legs would not obey. He had not been joking when he said that he had not been able to leave.

So I slowly retraced my steps, deep in thought. As I neared the scene of carnage, I saw that the first of the scavengers had arrived to sample the banquet that my predecessor had provided. On my approach, the ugly brutes started to flap away. Rather than disturb them, I faded out of their world. Every minute more of them joined the cohort. By nightfall there would be nothing left except bones, and in the next few days even those would be consumed.

My mind must have been slow, because it was some time before I noticed that the fort had vanished. Instead, where it had been stood a woman. She was like no other female that I had seen before and, my God, she was gorgeous!

Her body was barely contained within a sheer, almost transparent dress, cut low at the top and accentuating her every line and curve. It was slit down one side, exposing a smooth-skinned leg from hip to trim ankle. A thin strap over each shoulder disappeared into a cascade of long auburn hair. On her feet were a pair of open gilded sandals displaying a set of neatly painted toes. They were matched by immaculately manicured hands that rested on her hips. On each wrist was a bracelet on which, when I got closer, I could see a line of gems. Each finger had a ring as richly set as the bracelets. She wore no necklace. Instead, above her slim neck, her coiffure had been brushed back behind one ear and held in place by an ornate hair clip.

You could have not have bought the whole outfit for less than a small kingdom, but it paled in comparison to her face: smooth, lightly tanned, and perfectly rounded. Once or twice as I approached her she smiled at me, exposing a line of perfect whiteness. Dark brown eyes serenely returned my gaze. It was obvious that I was not invisible to her. For my part, I had trouble meeting them. Instead, my eyes kept drifting down to stare at various parts of anatomy.

Yet, in spite of her attire and figure, it was her poise that was most striking. Self confident, brazen, almost arrogant, and in total control of the situation. One would be astonished to have met her in a palace; she looked too exceptional even for such a location. Amid the sand and glare, she should have looked totally out of place. But somehow she seemed to belong here.

I stopped about four or five paces from her and studied her again. A flick of my mind and my sword, shield and helmet disappeared. If she were as good at sorcery as at fashion, then mere weapons would be no defence. If not, then I would not need them anyway. Enchantress, hetaira, siren; whoever she was, she had me in the palm of her hand.

"Your friend has gone," I informed her. "For some reason, he neglected to mention you when he handed the job over to me. So, do you mind telling who you are?"

"The Guardian, of course," she replied, Then, as if to answer my obvious question, her form faded before my sight. To my astonishment, as she slowly disappeared I could see a shape start to become visible in her place. It was the fort!

Soon I was standing before its full glory. I reached over and stroked its stonework.

"Whoever created you knew exactly how to keep a warrior here in such a desolate place," I said to it. "I was not surprised that my predecessor was happy to linger here. You are a damned sight more powerful than any magic spell at controlling a man."

Then the walls began to dissolve and I quickly pulled back my hand. When her form was finally restored, she walked over and put her arms around me. At this distance I could not help but smell her perfume, and for a moment I was lost in its scent. When I had returned to the real world, it was to meet those dark eyes.

"Happy, now?" she inquired. It was all that I could do to nod. Then a thought slipped into my mind.

"Just one question. What are we supposed to be guarding?"

She smiled at me enigmatically and covered my lips with hers.

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