King of the Bastards (20 page)

“Shit,” Rogan muttered, and noted the figure inside the tube had
long hair, a thick waist-belt concealing dirk handles, and a long spear at his
side. The gleam of the spear made Rogan randy as he made his move.

A foot on the tube, Rogan leapt up, swinging the sword, eye level
with Meeble. The strike would’ve been impressive had it landed. As the blade
swung and Rogan flew in the air, Meeble tilted back and swiped out, backhanded.
Amazed the big thing was lucky enough to slap the flat of his sword…hard enough
to knock it from his grip, Rogan flew into Meeble, unarmed. Knee up,
instinctually ready for the impact, he didn’t strike Meeble. The right hand of
the monster grabbed his left arm and the left hand drew across his body and
bitch slapped him. Hard. Rogan’s weight proved tough to hold with one hand and
Meeble dropped him. As he fell and rolled on the floor, Rogan felt the left
side of his face crinkle as if parchment had been wadded up. Tongue over his
teeth, not finding any empty slots, Rogan felt the onslaught of the pain arrive
and spider clawed away on the floor. Meeble’s hands fell at where Rogan landed,
and the being spoke again.

“Killer.”

Scurrying about the fallen tube like a rat, Rogan searched for
his fallen sword, and looked hungry at the spear inside the glass tube. Eyes on
Meeble, the creature glared back at him.

“Not coward.” Meeble breathed and might have grinned as he
declared, “Killer.”

Rogan thought to spout a boast, like there were plenty more like
him back home, but dived for his blade.

Meeble anticipated this move and lurched toward that direction,
causing Rogan to not kneel as he’d have been exposed to a punch. Though he
stopped, and turned, Meeble chopped at him again. Rogan tilted his body,
avoided the blow and the follow up that intended to knock his head askew. Bent,
Rogan spun, did a three-sixty, and tried to dodge again, but slipped in the
amber goop on the floor. Desperate, Rogan took a knee, scooped up the wet goo
in his hands and threw it into Meeble’s oncoming charge. The wet splashes struck
Meeble’s face and his arms failed to hit Rogan. He shook his head like a dog
clearing water. Pleased with himself, Rogan reached and grabbed up the hilt of
his sword.

With a step, Meeble bridged the gap between them and they both
stood by the wall. Meeble’s left foot slapped on the flat of the sword tip, and
his right hand covered Rogan’s on the pommel. With a fast move, Meeble yanked
and the great broadsword snapped in half. Rogan let it go and squatted fast,
exiting between Meeble’s legs. Before he could even get clear, Meeble turned
and slapped him between his shoulder blades, sending him staggering and
impacting on another of the tall glass tubes. Rogan hugged the tube, this one
containing a seaweed thing. He sucked air, trying to get his wind back and
quickly peeled himself free of the tube, knowing Meeble stalked him close.

Meeble swatted with both arms, smashing the glass tube asunder
and Rogan moved about him, swinging a fist, punching Meeble where his kidneys
should be. As the great glass beaker broke open and splashed all over Meeble,
Rogan avoided the back swing of the creature’s arm, and grabbed into the
oncoming muck. He pulled whatever spewed in the tube out faster, slamming it
into Meeble, who back pedaled, somewhat confused by the rush of fluid and the
seaweed thing inside. Rogan grabbed a hold of Meeble’s elbow and swung himself
up, kicking the being in the face hard as he backed up. Rogan let go and fell
into the debris, hands and boots up like a crab, watching Meeble stumble and
then near to fall over the other tube. Meeble stood over the tube, both hands
on it, shaking his face free.

Hardly a moment lapsed as Rogan grabbed up a hunk of the broken
glass like material and ran at Meeble. Though Meeble moved, Rogan’s swipe found
a home, stabbing the jagged edges of the glass into the creature’s buttocks.
Meeble roared and something darker than blood sprang out in the white fur.

Rogan moved about the prone tube, grinning, so glad to see Meeble
bleed. He took the hunk and crashed it down, breaking open the tube between
them. He grabbed the spear at the side of the man in the tube and the figure in
the beaker held onto it. A moment of terror grabbed Rogan, afraid this person
would arise from sleep and fight him, too. However, it was a reflex and the
grip of the soldier from another time dropped.

The moment was all Meeble needed to turn, grab a handful of
Rogan’s hair and swat him in the belly. Though he tensed up his guts, the shot
hurt terribly. Rogan couldn’t count the punches to his stomach he’d taken, but
few as strong as that. As a youth, he prided his gut as a cast iron place
almost invulnerable. Still, this strike nearly made him puke on Meeble.

He dropped the spear, still dangling from the grip of the
monster, and flailed as Meeble struck him again, same spot. Again, Rogan took
the shot, but the hurt made him ache all over.

“Strong man,” Meeble grunted, dropping the barbarian as he reared
back and aimed at Rogan’s face. Rogan rolled away, pushing off with his boots
on Meeble’s chest, but the fist still connected with his jaw. In the air again,
Rogan’s eyes lit with a million stars and his head filled with craziness,
confusing images of slaughtered people and burning villages in realms made of
steel and glass. All of that went away as he impacted on the floor. For a
moment, all went black, but his mind resisted and he turned, again hearing the
voice of Meeble. “Hard man.”

Meeble picked him up by the shoulders and head-butted him clean
on the forehead. Once more, Rogan’s head went afire with crazy pictures of the
dead in places he’d never seen. The ground, once more, sobered him up.

“Iron man,” Meeble mused, his voice curious.

Certain his brains had sloshed to the back of his skull, Rogan’s
body felt weary, and didn’t respond right away when he dived between Meeble’s
legs, making a vain attempt at the spear.

Meeble caught his boots, held him up, and opened his mouth to
speak again.

Rogan reached out, grabbed Meeble’s penis, and twisted it like he
broke the neck of a snake.

Meeble let him go.

Sure that the organ felt serrated in his hands when he touched
it, Rogan hit the ground with his shoulders, and ignored the cry of pain from
the hulking creature. Boots back on the ground, Rogan arose and ran, trying to
avoid Meeble’s oath of a strike, but the big thing held his manhood, groaning.
Slipping past the tube in the goo on the floor, Rogan grabbed the spear. A
beautiful weapon, near to seven feet in length, a bronze ball weighting it on
the end, a sturdy shaft and heron feathers near the joint below the blade,
Rogan liked it, a lot. 

Meeble swung around, still hunched over, anger in his almond
eyes.

“Dead man,” he snarled.

Rogan liked Iron Man better and brought the butt of the spear
about, connecting the bronze ball with Meeble’s right eye. By the way the
creature jerked back and shook, Rogan hit an area as good as Meeble’s prick.
Rogan waded in, dodging each punch or slap from Meeble’s left arm with the ball
of the spear higher up. Meeble held his right eye, backing away as Rogan
parried him, over and over, alas, swinging the bronze ball up for another groin
shot. Though Meeble angled away, he still caught a grazing and hunched over a
bit…far enough, Rogan thought.

When Rogan went for the straight stab into Meeble’s left eye,
Meeble dropped to his ass and grabbed Rogan’s legs with both of his hand-like
feet. The left hand jabbed at Rogan, who instinctively brought up the spear for
defense. The spearhead blade flattened on Rogan’s face, smashed into it by
Meeble’s swat. Rogan felt his nose give and blood spewed down his mustache and
beard. This didn’t slow down his thinking, as Rogan’s nose had been broken many
times before.

Meeble’s feet tightened, holding Rogan firm.

Rogan dropped the spear from defense and jabbed ahead, aiming for
the eye Meeble at last revealed, blinking it many times. The beast saw the blow
and jerked his body away, his grip free of Rogan’s legs. The spearhead found a
home, but not in Meeble’s head. The blade, over a foot long, inserted into
Meeble’s right shoulder easier than Rogan could’ve dreamed. About ten inches
sank in and struck bone. Rogan tried to push harder, but the agonized frenzy of
Meeble sent him tumbling again, the feet, though not gripping Rogan, pushed
off, knocking him down. The spear shaft, out of his grip, hung out of Meeble’s
shoulder, flaccid.

Boots on the floor again, Rogan glanced at Amazarak, who watched
with wide eyes, hardly breathing. Rogan then advanced on Meeble, who still sat
on his buttocks, fumbling with the spear. When Meeble grabbed the shaft to pull
it free, Rogan leapt into the air, drop kicking the beast’s hand on the shaft.
The spear broke off, and the spearhead delved in deeper. Rogan fell over
Meeble, who got to his knees, roaring in pain, trying to rise up again.

Up to his feet again, Rogan’s legs shook. Full of battle crazy,
his very being felt a wave of fatigue, but he couldn’t focus on it. He desired
another weapon and desperately grabbed one of Amazarak’s glowing boxes, ripped
it from the table, and smashed it on Meeble’s rising backside. Still hunkered
over, Meeble turned about to receive another shimmering box on the head. Sparks
and glass flew from the strange boxes. Rogan started to punch Meeble in the
face, over and over, then he stared at the spearhead, the blood bubbling from
the shoulder. He read the pain in the manner in which the creature moved and
breathed.

While he appeared tired and certainly hurt, Meeble threw a quick
elbow jab to Rogan’s crotch, doubling him over. Rogan tried to put distance
between them as the pain sank into his body from the groin strike. On all
fours, Rogan’s head turned up to see Meeble staggering, struggling to rise. He
then wondered if this thing he fought truly was Meeble, or just a pretender.
Rogan figured it didn’t matter much as he’d be really dead if this Meeble
crushed his skull. And…so would many more, not just this community in this
realm, but his friends to the south, and in time, Albion.

Rogan stood again, legs shaking, pondering the worshipers of
Meeble, and their campaigns of terror. “What a prick you are,” Rogan muttered,
thinking of the power and ability this thing possessed, and spent it on murder.
Were the tales correct on the Thirteen? Were they from another universe and did
Meeble do his bad things just to be an asshole to the Creator God? Why did the
Creator God let this fuck do such things? Why wouldn’t he stop him or slow him
down?

In his head, Rogan heard laughter…not evil tones, but those of
the Doorkeeper. Suddenly, it dawned on Rogan that while this unknown God didn’t
give him any special gift or power, he may have placed him in the right place
to get in Meeble’s way.

“A pawn again, in the game of the gods,” Rogan laughed, angrier
than before.

“Gods?” Meeble grumbled, also trying to get up and set his feet.
“God kill my people. God must die.”

With that statement, Meeble charged him and Rogan slipped away,
sliding into the next line of tubes, pushing away two of the containers and
letting them bounce and roll. Neither broke. Rogan hopped down, putting a tube
between them, as Meeble pursued. He rolled it at the monster, who hopped over
it with a crudely graceful gait, but the second tube he didn’t navigate so
well. Rogan had hoped he’d break it and more glass would be available to stab
him with. The momentum of the tube went too far and Meeble got over it, almost.
His left foot caught and Meeble stumbled, tripping over the tube, going flat to
the floor.

As Meeble rolled over, Rogan navigated about him and rolled one
of the tubes onto his midsection. Meeble floundered for a moment, grabbing the
cylinder and trying to cast it away. Rogan countered, levering the container so
Meeble hugged the top end to get a grip to throw it. Rogan leapt in the air,
both boots together, and dropped on the end near Meeble’s chest. From his
weight and Meeble’s grip, the glass broke and the container started to empty.
Rogan landed, skidded in the fluid, but put his head and shoulders under the
tube. He shoved it up so Meeble got the full bath in the face from the fluid.
He heard Meeble gag and cough. Rogan let go of the tube and ran about the chest
of Meeble as he cast off the annoying container. Rogan straddled his chest as
the person in the tube flopped onto Meeble’s legs. Rogan looked into Meeble’s
face, seeing his mouth open wide, full of the fluid, and his flat tongue poke
out. He couldn’t breathe.

“Drown, you cocksucker,” Rogan roared and clasped his hands over
Meeble’s nose, trying to shut off any way he could breathe.

Meeble convulsed and his body went limp.

Rogan climbed off, sucking air himself, looking at Amazarak, who
sported wide eyes.

“And you, ya sonofabitch, you brought him here,” Rogan said
in-between breaths, praying he had the strength to kill that fuck, too.

“Meeble broke your sword of steel, iron man of the mountains,”
Amazarak taunted him. “He broke a sword made by your father, I bet.”

Meeble’s body trembled and he coughed, fluid shooting from his
nostrils.

Amazarak giggled, “He’ll break you.”

“My father didn’t make that sword,” Rogan muttered, looking at
the body from the tube that lazily lay across Meeble’s legs. “Somebody else’s
dad made it.”

Meeble vomited, not only the amber fluid down his gullet, but a
black substance Rogan had only seen squirting from a child’s ass immediately
after birth.

Eyes on the person from the container, Rogan noted this
individual wore a green outfit, almost a uniform, and carried a black weapon,
that held a handgrip like a crossbow, but a long tube on it supported by bits
of wood. Rogan picked this weapon up by the strap slung on it, and studied it.
Rogan gripped the handle that sported a trigger like crossbows made in Shynar,
but he saw no arrows to load in the barrel. He squeezed the trigger and nothing
happened.