King of the Bastards (18 page)

Asenka, Zenata, and two of their warrior women ran forward, all
firing into Giwaka, and quickly following up their arrow shots with a thrown
tomahawk. The arrows didn’t sink in, but scratched her, annoying Giwaka, and
she went low and spun all about. Javan couldn’t fathom her speed…and saw the
hooked tail swing out, and chop off the ankle of one of the women. As she fell,
Giwaka stood again, swiped both arms out, and clocked Asenka and Zenata in the
jaws, sending each woman tumbling. She then leapt onto the fallen warrior girl,
hooves crushing her left kneecap and kicking her face, utterly pulping her
skull, hoof cleanly passing through.

Giwaka stood atop her and roared, and Javan released his arrow. He’d
waited for the moment and the shot went near to perfect. He’d seen it in his
mind, the arrow hitting Giwaka, going through her open mouth and lodging into
the roof of her mouth. However, the creature closed her mouth and then grinned.

“Fuck me,” Javan mouthed, astonished that Giwaka caught the
arrowhead in her teeth. He dropped his bow and pulled his short sword just as
she charged forward. Faster than any animal he’d ever been near, Javan twisted,
trying to roll with whatever she had in mind, but extended his sword, which she
slapped away. That move saved his life. As the claw rushed for him, he moved
and she performed an inadvertent tackle, sending Javan down, reeling.

He faced her as her legs flexed, and he felt his death draw nigh.
However, a few Kennebeck braves that had courage ran forward, using the long
spears, and jabbed at her breasts. These long blades did penetrate her teats
and she roared. She performed an elegant kick, hopping on one hoof before
extending the other, crushing in the chest of one brave, and getting her hoof
caught in his ribs.

Giwaka turned to face Javan again, tail swinging about to stab
through the kidneys of another brave as she tried to get her hoof free of the
other like she shook off manure. Javan started to rise, but Giwaka seized him
by both shoulders in a touch not unlike a dominant whore that he once bought in
Irem. She brought him up with force toward her face and he’d have gotten his
jaw bitten off had Asenka not leapt onto her back, a tomahawk in each hand and started
to chop at the sides of her neck like a person driving nails. Giwaka dropped
Javan, who immediately armed up his sword to thrust at her breasts. He found
the skin tough but not impossible.

She spun, trying to shake Asenka, and Javan saw some blood rise
from the repeated blows. The warrior woman on fire, she kept striking and was
smiling at Javan the moment a sharp point emerged from the flat spot on her
chest where a breast should be. Asenka froze, looked down, confused at the
stinger point sticking from her chest a good four inches.

Giwaka snapped Asenka from her back, depositing her dead form to
the dirt. In that single moment, when Zenata lost control and went after the
beast with her tomahawk and a dagger, Javan saw the tail still embedded in Asenka
and dove toward it. Knees in the dead girl’s back, he used her as leverage as
he swung the sword at the tail, chopping three times near the stinger, and
cleaving into the flesh of Giwaka. Giwaka roared, slapping Zenata away,
bloodying her nose, and turning fast. Javan flattened on Asenka’s body, forcing
more weight on the extended tail. Giwaka’s own momentum ripped the stinger off,
leaving it half out of Asenka’s back. She screamed loud as Javan rolled off
Asenka and pulled the stinger out.

Suddenly, a dozen Kennebeck braves charged Giwaka, swarming her
with numbers, knocking her from her attack on Javan. Though she threw off three
of them in the pile, the weight of them shocked her enough to get her from her
hooves. They had her rolled over, flat, and Giwaka did a push up, rising with a
half dozen on her back.

Zenata ran with a tomahawk and swung low, smashing the blade into
her nose. The nose split and their eyes met. Zenata screamed and drew back,
over and over, and kept hitting her in the face. She grinned, blood running
into her fangs.

Javan leapt to her back and grabbed Giwaka in a headlock, the
stinger in his hand, swiping it across her throat. Giwaka grabbed back and
threw Javan, ass over elbows, sending him to the flat of his back on the
ground. Her hand to her throat, she looked at more blood. Head tilted, as if
fascinated, Giwaka looked down at Zenata again. This time though, the one
breasted girl didn’t hesitate. She held the stinger Javan dropped with two
hands and drove it down into the abdomen of Giwaka, splitting her open down her
belly and to her pubic ridge. On her knees, covered in the blood that gushed
from Giwaka, Zenata flipped the stinger about and stabbed upwards into the
creature’s vagina. Buried deep, she twisted and shoved it farther before
falling away, bringing out loops of gore Javan couldn’t name.

Giwaka wavered on her hooves, then fell, hands to her belly like
she could put herself back together again.

Zenata rose up and started to stab and swipe at Giwaka’s head
with the stinger. She jabbed, relentless, until Javan stood and pulled her
away. He bet she stabbed Giwaka’s head fifty times.

The creature fell over and exhaled loud, a final breath escaping.

Zenata fell to the ground, looking at Asenka, face down in the
ground, dead. She cried and Javan knelt, holding her.

The earth shook, a little at first, then more.

§

Amazarak was just ahead of Rogan as they ran into the cave.
Green light surged around them as they disappeared within.

They ran in several yards before Rogan stopped, realizing the
lines of flashing steel covering the walls would not happen in an ordinary
cave. The shaman padded away up ahead behind many squared objects as cold air
surrounded Rogan. He shivered as if he had just stepped into the snowy lands of
Thule. He looked behind him, still seeing the green lands and the squeals of
the beast they passed. Dismissing this chill and trying to block out the
humming in his mind, he cautiously moved into a larger chamber. Hardly part of
a cave, this area sat as a squared room like the interior of a palace. He half
expected a line of guests and foreign princes to be lined up and received.

The main background stayed grim and dark, but a green glow seeped
in from various boxes. A rainbow selection of lights tapered on rectangular
tablets tilted on boxes displaying symbols Rogan couldn’t read. Every so often,
icy chills flowed over his sweaty frame. That sensation, added to the footsteps
of Akibeel and the Doorkeeper in his brain, made Rogan uneasy at the least.

Beyond these flickering boxes sat dozens of giant tubes lining
the walls. Rogan guessed these were made of glass. Inside each container
floated a humanoid shape, but not just human bodies. Rogan stopped, staring at
the various containers, seeing hovering forms of women, children, and
monstrosities unnamable. One tube contained what looked to be a female figure,
however the skin ran scaly, reptilian, and the feet terminated in fins. In
another cell a head was sub-divided as if two normal human children lived in
the same form yet separating slowly. Yet another cell held the shape of what
Rogan assumed were clots of seaweed…however this proved to be material emerging
from the back of a tiny man, mercifully asleep. One container on the end hung
higher than the rest, open, and fluid coated the floor. His eyes traced a trail
out of the room. He wondered if that was the thing that Javan and the others
fought outside.

Shaking his head, Rogan returned to the task at hand. He ran
through these many containers to yet a larger room, this one with a vaulted
ceiling but more natural in caves. Bizarre boxes of objects filled this place,
too, and he caught a glimpse of the dark shaman. He sheathed his sword and
moved in closer. More tubes continued on, and Amazarak slipped between these
containers and seemed to struggle with something on the ground. When Rogan drew
closer, he saw Amazarak placing a series of metallic objects on hooks attached
to the wall. The shaman stepped into some form of armor, much larger than
plated materials or suits Rogan had seen in his life. He paused, trying to
understand what the wizard did, wagering Amazarak donned armor to try and best
him in battle.

He grinned, hand returning to his sword, feeling the end of the
game near.

As Amazarak closed the legs and midsection of the armor,
something caught Rogan’s eye. Into the interior of the cave another glowing
tablet hung…no…there was no wall. Rogan squinted and took a step toward it,
trying not to reveal himself to the shaman. There was no tablet on a wall glowing…but
a swirling glow in mid-air, a fingerprint like smudge in reality, just hanging
there like a terrible painting splattered on the air itself.

Amazarak’s voice filtered out, sounding like it grated
underwater. “You should not have followed me here.”

Rogan drew his long blade and faced him. “You’re probably right,
but I ceased giving a shit a long time ago.”

Several glittering lights danced on squared tables on the
opposite side of the vast room. More lights flared above them, revealing even
more tubes and human forms. Rogan glanced at these people, who were different
than the others. Each of these bodies wore clothing. What struck him as odd was
that nearly all of them were dressed alike, in garb unfamiliar to his travels
around the world. The males were clad in black breeches, white undershirts, and
black coats. Some still bore wide brimmed hats with metallic buckles on the hat
bands. The females floated in their drab, dark gowns and pale bonnets.

The shaman moved, clumsy at first, but then with more grace in
the armor that resembled shiny gray steel. The gauntlet-like hands hung at the
end of the arms, each suddenly producing a razor blade three inches long. Rogan
saw heavy pinchers folded backwards behind these appendages. A hinge like from
a door held these items in place. The rather box-like helmet bore a series of
steel spikes that closed over the shaman’s face like a fly-trap plant. Steel
ground on steel as the glittering giant moved toward Rogan smoothly.

When Amazarak faced him, the series of spikes covering his face
slid open. These armored spikes to the sides, Rogan saw a glassy mask over a
faceplate.

Then, Rogan noted the tiny jar over beside the wall where the
shaman got dressed in the armor. Rogan shoulder rolled past the shaman, sliding
a bit more than he wanted to on the slick floor, and came up against the wall.
He seized the jar, but had no time to act…not that he understood clearly what
to do with it anyway.

Gripping the jar in one hand and the handle of his sword in the
other, Rogan saw the left arm of the armor flip around the pinchers on the
hinge. This arm started to extend as Amazarak approached him. The aged warrior
dove to the floor, feeling every joint in his body ache as the smooth floor
never gave way.

Truly, it was not a wonder stupid men thought this creature a
god,
he mused.

“You fucking devil,” Rogan spat, getting up to his knees. “Just
another monster in a suit of armor playing wizard games with lives.”

Rogan expected a laugh, but got none. Instead Amazarak paused and
then said, “You are strange in this land, large man. Yet you dread spirits like
all of the primitives in this world. It is no marvel I chose this continent for
analysis, not your savage realm.”

“I’m not a man of big words but I don’t think you are just a rival
tribesman, are you?”

Amazarak made no move to get to Rogan. He replied, “You are
correct. However, you appear to be a person of action. I shall give you some.”
The creature turned and touched a gleaming button on a table.

The steel floor under Rogan’s body boiled and came alive with a
million sparks. Jumping to his boots, still feeling the sparks, Rogan’s
instinct took over and he leapt onto one of the tables of glittering lights. On
his haunches like a panther, Rogan faced his enemy again.

“You are not from my world,” Rogan snarled, “but you are no
damned god. You are flesh hiding inside that steel.”

“That is wrong on a number of levels, barbarian. This…” He held
up a metallic hand and flexed the fingers. “This is not steel, but I comprehend
that you would see it as such. Indeed, you are wise in that I am no god, but
you are mistaken on your first thought. I am from your world, but from a time
far distant from yours. You could never understand my journey back in time,
continually falling backwards, never able to return or go forward again.”

Gripping his jar and his sword, Rogan said, “I heed not the
ravings of madmen.”

“But since you cannot see how to kill me, you hesitate. Death is
what it is all about, barbarian. The energy of death and life is all I have to
study now.” He gestured at the tubes around him. “My trophies and subjects from
other times, yes, I carry many with me as I travel backwards.” Amazarak glanced
at a small tubular spot at the back corner of the room. It was hardly large
enough for a child to fit in.

“Why torment us? Go home.”

“I cannot, barbarian. My great engines you hear around you are
damaged and my fortress, as you may call it, can no longer travel with me. If I
choose to go myself, yes, I can move on.” Again, the being looked at the small
closet and Rogan wondered if the creature realized he was doing it. The longing
in the eyes of the shaman was real to Rogan. This creature appeared bored, if
anything else, but as much a prisoner as his subjects in fluid. “Magic and
science blur at times, and I have made sacrifices to try and survive, to get to
other places and discovered the horror of the Thirteen, but made bargains for
their goals.”

Rogan jumped down and moved behind one of the tubes, surprised
the floor no longer stung.

Sounding amused, Amazarak said, “You would be an interesting study, barbarian. I wonder how you would fair against others in my collection, or at an even earlier time when the ante-humans roamed the plains? You are such a fool though, to think that I wear just a suit of armor, when it’s just a means to study lower forms of life. Still, it protects me from a beast like you.” He glanced at the glowing thumbprint in the air. “He’s coming, you know.”