Free The Last Protector by Daniel C. Starr

then short, then broad, then skinny, then straight, then curved.
    Nalia stared. “How the hell does it do that?"
    He shrugged. “Jape's got an explanation. He says the blade's a bazillion little things he calls ‘long chain mono-molecular polymer microfibers,’ and when I squeeze the grip it makes ‘energy fields’ that tell the blade what shape to be. That's why it glows like that. See the colors?"
    She let herself get within about six inches, close enough to hear the weapon's faint humming and see ripples and waves of light flashing through the blade. “Mono-whatchamacallits? Energy fields? Sounds like magic to me."
    Scrornuck nodded. “Jape uses all these words, but in the end I think they're just a fancy name for magic.” The blade disappeared as he slipped the weapon back into its sheath.
    "Where'd you ever find a sword like that?"
    "Well, that's a bit of a story."
    "A bit of a story, huh?” She made a show of consulting a non-existent appointment book. “Go ahead, I'm free for the evening."
    "Okay, let me see: it was a month or so after our little army had defeated the clan from the east. I'd cleaned up the neighborhood with the Master's silver sword, rescued a lot of the people who had been carried off as slaves, and by the time I got done, the Easterners wouldn't come within five miles of our village."
    "So you were the local hero?"
    "Local hero, and local pain-in-the-ass.” He took a sip of beer. “Nobody was willing to tangle with me, so I bullied the guys and bedded the girls and made a real nuisance of myself. I needed a little comeuppance. And I got it—boy, did I get it!"
    Scrornuck strode down the dirt street of the village to the Elder's palace, more than a little irritated at having been summoned from the Equinox festival almost as soon as it began. The Elder had hardly finished performing the ancient ritual with the white mare—to everyone's amusement, she was uncooperative as ever—and Scrornuck was barely halfway through his first pint, when the summons arrived. Another stranger had appeared at the palace, and Scrornuck was needed to translate his speech, kill him, or both. He resolved to dispatch his task quickly and get back to the festival to eat, drink, sing, dance and choose which of the village's young ladies would keep him warm this night.
    The Elder, limping slightly after the horse had kicked him, took his ceremonial throne as Scrornuck arrived. Before the throne stood the stranger, babbling in an incomprehensible tongue. He was taller even than Scrornuck, perhaps as much as seven feet, and dressed in the clothing of a Knight. Metal armor graced his shoulders and chest, chain-mail protected his arms and legs, and a great green cape swung gently in the slight breeze.
    Scrornuck listened to the stranger attentively, and realized he'd heard this language before—the babbling almost immediately formed into words, phrases, and sentences. He found his anger building. This strange Knight was venting the foulest of insults, one after the other, insulting the village, insulting its people, their ancestry, their strength, their intelligence, their morals, their virility.
    "That is enough!” Scrornuck bellowed in the Knight's tongue, placing his hand firmly on his sword-grip. “One more foul word and I swear, I'll cut you down where you stand!"
    The Knight turned to face Scrornuck, seeming more to float than to move on legs and feet. For a moment he stared, with deep brown eyes that seemed to look at Scrornuck the way one might inspect something found under a rock. “Do you think you can?” he asked, disdain dripping from his words. He pulled an armored glove from his hand and let it drop at Scrornuck's feet. “I propose a challenge. I will bow, and you may attempt to chop my head off right here."
    Scrornuck began to draw his weapon, eager to take the stranger up on his offer, but the Knight held up his hand. “There is a condition: should I live, I shall get in return one swing of the