The Last Guardian (18 page)

And so would Shannow. It had not been a good deed. He could convince himself of its necessity, but not of its virtue. There was a time when Jon Shannow would have fought Webber man to man, upright and fearless. But not now. His powers and speed were waning. He had seen that well enough when he had watched Clem Steiner shoot the jug. Once, maybe, the Jerusalem Man could have duplicated such a feat. Not anymore. Not even close.

A floorboard creaked in the corridor outside. Shannow hefted a pistol, then heard a door open and close and the sound of a man sitting down on a mattress. He relaxed but left the pistol cocked.

Rivervale. That was where his life had changed. He had ridden through the wild lands and found himself in a predominantly peaceful community. There he had met Donna Taybard. Her husband, Tomas the carpenter, had been murdered, and she herself was under threat. Shannow had helped her and had grown to love her. Together they had journeyed with Con Griffin to a hoped-for new life in a world without brigands and killers. Griffin had called it Avalon.

Yet what had they found? Shannow had been wounded by the Carns, a strange race of cannibals, and rescued by the saintly Karitas, a survivor of the Fall of the world. Donna had believed Shannow dead and had married Griffin.

And something in Jon Shannow had given up the ghost and died. He remembered his father once saying: “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” But it was not true.

He had been more content before he had met Donna. Perhaps not happy, but he had known who he was and what he was …

The soft scuff of a boot sounded on the roof above his head.

Come, then, my would-be killers. I am here. I am waiting
. He heard the stretching groan of a rope and saw a booted foot in a loop easing down outside the window.

Lower and lower it came until a man’s body appeared. He was holding the rope with his left hand while in his right was a long-barreled pistol. As his torso came level with the window, he sighted on the bed and fired twice. At the same time, the door to Shannow’s room was smashed open and two men rushed in.

The Jerusalem Man shot them both with his left-hand pistol, then twisted his right and fired point-blank into the belly of the man on the rope, who screamed and pitched back out of sight. Shannow lifted his pistols high and blasted three shots through the ceiling. He heard a man yell; the rope sailed past the window, and he heard the thumping crash of the body splitting the planks of the sidewalk.

Silence fell. The room stank of gunfire, and a fine mist of powder and cordite hung in the air.

Outside in the corridor Shannow could hear whispered commands, but there was no movement.

Swiftly he reloaded his pistols with the last of his shells.

Two shots came from the corridor. A man screamed, and a body thudded against the wooden landing.

“Hey, Shannow,” called Steiner. “It’s clear out here. Can I come in?”

“Your hands better be empty,” Shannow replied.

Steiner stepped across the bodies and entered the room. “There were only two of them,” he said, smiling. “Damn, but you do make life interesting. You know, at least thirty men have already left the settlement. What I wouldn’t give for a reputation like yours!”

“Why did you help me?”

“Hell, Shannow, I couldn’t take the risk of someone else killing you. Where in the world would I find an opponent like you?”

Steiner eased his way to the side of the window and pulled the thick curtain across it; then he struck a match and lit the lantern on the table. “Mind if I move these bodies into the hall? They’re starting to stink up the place.” Without waiting for a response, he moved over to the corpses. “Both shot through the head. Pretty good. Pretty damn good!” He grabbed the collar of the first man and dragged him out into the hall. Shannow sat and watched as he pulled the second corpse after it. “Hey, Mason!” Steiner shouted. “Can you get some men up here to move this dead meat?”

Stepping back inside, he wedged the broken door shut and returned to his seat. “Well, Shannow, you going to thank me or what?”

“Why should I thank you?”

“For taking out the two on the stairs. What would you have done without me? They had you trapped in here like snared game.”

“Thank you,” said Shannow. “And now you should leave. I’m going to get some sleep.”

“You want me to walk with you tomorrow, when the hunting starts?”

“That will not be necessary.”

“Man, you are crazy. There’re still twenty, maybe thirty men who won’t be run out. You can’t take them all.”

“Good night, Meneer Steiner.”

The following morning, after three hours sleep, Jon Shannow made his way down to the lobby and called Mason to him. “Send someone out to find me six children who can read. Have them brought here.”

Then the Jerusalem Man sat down at a table with six large sheets of paper and a charcoal stub. Slowly and carefully he spelled out a simple message on each sheet.

Shannow made the children read the message aloud and then sent them to the gambling and drinking houses
in the eastern section with instructions to hand a notice to each of the owners or barmen. The message was simple:

When the children had left, Shannow sat back and waited patiently, emptying his mind of fear and tension. Mason brought him a cup of Baker’s and sat down opposite him.

“For what it’s worth, Shannow, the room is free—and any food or drink you consume.”

“That is kind of you, Meneer.”

Mason shrugged. “You are a good man. This will make you no friends, however.”

“I am aware of that.” He looked into the man’s cadaverous face. “I do not think you were always a room keeper.”

Mason gave a thin smile. “You chased me out of Allion—put a bullet in my shoulder. When it rains, it hurts like the Devil.”

Shannow nodded. “I remember you; you rode with Cade. I am glad you found something more productive.”

“A man gets older,” said Mason. “Most of us took to the road because we were forced from our farms by raiders, or drought, or men with power. But it’s no life. Here I have a wife, two daughters, and a roof over my head. My meals are regular, and in the winter I have a large log fire to keep out the cold. What more can a man rightly ask for?”

“Amen to that,” Shannow agreed.

“What will you do now?”

“I’ll wait until noon and then root out whoever is left.”

“This isn’t Allion, Shannow. There you had townspeople who backed you. There was a committee, I
recall—all good with rifles—and they protected your back. Here it is suicidal. They will wait for you in alleys or shoot you as you appear on the street.”

“I have spoken the words, Meneer, and they are iron.”

“I guess so,” agreed Mason, rising. “God’s luck be with you.”

“It generally is,” said the Jerusalem Man.

From where he sat he could see the sun slowly ascending the heavens. It looked to be a beautiful day; a man could not choose a more beautiful day to die. One by one the children returned, and Shannow gave them each a coin, asking them where they had taken the notices and what the response had been. In most cases the recipients had read them aloud to the gathering, but in one instance a man had read out the notice and then torn it to pieces. The crowd had laughed, the boy told Shannow.

“Describe the place.” The boy did so. “And did you see men with guns there?”

“Yes. One was sitting by a window with a long rifle aimed at the street. There were two others on a balcony above and to the right of the door. And I think there was another man hidden by some barrels at the far wall by the bar.”

“You are an observant boy. What is your name?”

“Matthew Fenner, sir.” Shannow looked into the boy’s dark eyes and wondered why he had not seen the resemblance to the martyred farmer.

“How is your mother?”

“She’s been crying a lot.”

Shannow opened the hide pouch in which he kept his coins and counted out twenty pieces. “Give these to your mother. Tell her I am sorry.”

“We are not poor, sir. But thank you for the thought,” said Matthew. The boy turned and walked from the room.

It was almost noon. Shannow returned the coins to his pouch and stood.

He left the Traveler’s Rest by the back door and stepped
swiftly into the alley, moving to his right with the gun poised. The alley was deserted. He walked along behind the buildings until he came to the side of the gambling house the boy had described. It was run by a man named Zeb Maddox, and Mason had told him Maddox was a fast man with a pistol: “Damn near as sudden as Steiner. Don’t give him no second chances, Shannow.”

The Jerusalem Man paused outside a tiny service door to the rear, took a deep breath, and then eased the latch open. Stepping inside, he saw the back of a man who was kneeling behind some barrels. Beyond him everyone’s eyes were on the front door. Shannow moved forward and cracked his pistol against the back of the kneeling man’s neck. As he grunted and slid sideways, Shannow caught him by the collar and eased him to the floor.

Just then someone shouted, “There’s a crowd gathering, Zeb.”

Shannow watched as a tall, thin man in a black shirt and leather trousers emerged from behind the bar and moved to the door. He was wearing a pistol scabbard of polished leather that housed a short-barreled gun with a bone handle.

From outside came a voice.

“You men inside, listen to me; this is the Parson speaking. We know you are armed, and we are ready to give battle to you. But think on this: There are forty men out here, and when we rush the place, the carnage will be terrible. Those we do not kill will be taken to a place of execution and hanged by the neck until dead. I suggest you put down your weapons and walk—in peace—to your horses. We will wait for a few minutes, but if we are forced to storm in, you all will die.”

“We got to get out of here, Zeb,” shouted a man Shannow could not see.

“I’ll not run from a pack of townies,” hissed Zeb Maddox.

“Then run from me,” said Shannow, moving forward with pistol raised.

Maddox turned slowly. “You going to try to put that pistol in my mouth, Shannow, or will you be a man and face me?”

“Oh, I’ll face you,” said Shannow as he strode forward and pushed his pistol into Maddox’s belly. “Draw your gun and cock it.”

“What the hell is this?”

“Do it. Now put it against my stomach.” Maddox did so. “Fine. There’s your chance. I’ll count to three and we’ll both pull the triggers,” Shannow whispered coldly.

“You’re crazy. We’ll both die for sure.”

“One,” said Shannow.

“This is mad, Shannow!” Maddox’s eyes were wide with terror.

“Two!”

“No!” screamed Maddox, hurling away his pistol and throwing himself backward, his hands over his face.

The Jerusalem Man looked around at the waiting gunmen. “Live or die,” he told them. “Choose now.”

Guns clattered to the floor. Shannow walked to the doorway and nodded to the Parson and the men gathered with him. Broome was there. And Brisley … and Mason … and Steiner. Beth McAdam was standing beside them, her pistol in her hand.

“I killed no one,” said Shannow. “They are ready to go. Let them ride.” He walked away, his gun hanging at his side.

“Shannow!” screamed Beth, and the Jerusalem Man spun as Zeb Maddox fired from the doorway. The shell punched Shannow from his feet; his vision misting, he returned the fire. Maddox doubled over, then staggered upright, but a volley of shots from the crowd lifted him and hurled him back through the doorway.

Shannow struggled to his feet and staggered. Blood was dripping to his cheek. He bent to retrieve his hat …

And darkness swallowed him.

Bright colors were everywhere, hurting his eyes. And blood flowed on his face. Flames flickered at the edge of his vision, and he saw a terrible beast stalking toward him, holding a rope with which to throttle him. His pistol blazed, and the creature staggered but came on, blood pouring from its wound. He fired again. And again. Still the beast advanced, until finally it slumped to its knees before him, its taloned claws opening
.

“Why?” the beast whispered
.

Shannow looked down and saw that the creature was carrying not a rope but a bandage. “Why did you kill me when I was trying to help you?”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Shannow. The beast vanished, and he rose and walked to the cave mouth. Hanging in the sky, awesome in its scale, was the Sword of God, with around it crosses of many colors—green and white and blue. Below it was a city teeming with life: a huge, circular city ringed with walls of white stone and a massive moat that boasted a harbor where wooden ships with banks of oars were anchored
.

A beautiful woman with flame-red hair approached Shannow. “I will help you,” she said … but in her hand was a knife. Shannow backed away
.

“Leave me alone,” he told her. But she advanced, and the knife came up to sink in his chest Darkness engulfed him. Then there was the noise of a great roaring, and he awoke
.

He was sitting in a small seat, surrounded by crystal set in steel. Upon his head was a tight-fitting helmet of leather. Voices whispered in his ear
.

“Calling Tower. This is an emergency. We seem to be off course. We cannot see land … Repeat … We cannot see land.”

Shannow leaned over and looked through the crystal
window. Far below he could see the ocean. He glanced back. He was sitting in a metal cross, suspended in the air below the clouds, which flashed by above him with dizzying speed
.

“What is your position, Flight Leader?” came a second voice
.

“We are not sure of our position, Tower. We cannot be sure just where we are
 … 
We seem to be lost
 …”

“Assume bearing due west
.”

“We don’t know which way is west. Everything is wrong … strange … we can’t be sure of any direction—even the ocean doesn’t look as it should
 …”