Barbarian King
Page 30
smiled, then replied, “Then, let’s get to it gentlemen.”
The wailing seemed to climb in the near distance and the first barbarian phalanx seemed to move forward with more impetus; then the racket began to slowly drop off, almost like someone was turning down the volume of a bad song, only to be replaced by the chants of the approaching horde.
“Hope! Change! Hope! Change!”
BamaOay breathed a little easier, even though his ears were still ringing at least that baying group of bitches had been silenced. The great military mind now had some time to take the measure of how the battle was beginning to progress. He could see his phalanx of Jackasses being spurred on by his commissars moving off as planned. BamaOay knew this feckless group of near subhumans looked mighty in number from afar, but pathetic in individual appearance. He cared less, they were nothing but cannon fodder.
Yes, this battle will be all but won, he thought with glee, but just then noticed a dark shadow slowly rising into the air from the ranks of the ‘round heads.’ What they doing? His expression slowly changed to one of angst. What those round heads doing?
Something was starting to rain down on the flat, broad heads of his subjects so-much-so the skies appeared to darken and the minions of his first phalanx...they were beginning to hesitate!
On the field of battle the enemy’s barricade was still some fifty-yards off, even though Al Arptonshay, aka ‘Goo Goo,’ and every other Jackass of the first wave had attempted and failed to run the gauntlet of flying stones. Unfortunately, the earlier run-in with the King had put him in bad graces, which is why he was stuck in the first phalanx of the attack. Goo Goo’s earlier chanting and name calling had fallen silent replaced by cries of pain and screams of panic. The war paint his King had instructed he and others to smear all over his bodies, the plumes of ostrich feathers they had stuck in their tangled hair to give them a more fierce appearance; those visual effects could not even be made out by the enemy at this distance! A large rock flashed before Goo Goo’s eyes, suddenly blinding him with stars, as he dropped unceremoniously to his knees, a terrible gash to his thick, muscled brow that had just managed to concuss his small, primitive brain. With a groan he fell face first into the mud and at that same instant, was pile-driven into the turf by countless Hobbit-like feet never to be seen again.
John EwartStay, aka ‘Numb Nuts,’ and former baggage porter for the King, was also part of the first wave and beginning to figure out his words and insults bore little to no results in combating an enemy intent on making war out of hearing range. What little protection he wore was having little effect in covering the vulnerable parts of his otherwise exposed furry bodies. Most of this first group of cannibals were also cowards who quickly began seeking shelter behind their fallen comrades, or running for one of the few hiding places on the valley floor. Hidden behind a growing cord of unconscious bodies and thinking himself safe, Numb Nuts wheeled suddenly to see an ox of a man standing above and glaring directly at him in wide-eyed in anger. This man-beast was one of the so-called “commissars” who had sprinkled among the first wave to insure pacifists like him did not get cold feet. All the blood had drained from the brute’s face as he cried out fiercely, “Coward!” A moment later, blood-drops flew from the bully’s bone-headed ax striking Numb Nuts and cleaving his head asunder. The giant then wrenched the axe-head above his head and roared, “Okay, whose next?”
Not feet away from Trajan and sitting on a piece of broken masonry was the not-so-slim figure of Illaryhay IntonClay, aka ScrowSucka, whose white skin glistened in dazzling contrast to the glossy ebon hides she wore. She whenced as wave after wave of missile flew up and onto the noggins of her fellow kinsmen, her ‘blockheads’ were packed together so tightly together every missile was finding its mark.
Trajan laughed out pointing out to his men how some of the fallen were seen being driven into the ground by masses of marching feet. Those that fell were not being helped to their feet, but were instead being trampled underfoot and usually face first.
This rabble was behaving much like those contrived mobs of jobless, food-stamp collecting liberals in IllaryHay’s original world. About all the rabble could do was carrying on with shouting, cursing, chanting silly slogans, spitting, and name calling. The barbarian horde was so closely packed together they could not even retaliate by throwing those missiles back at their tormentors. Also, when one jackass went down it usually caused a chain reaction with whole sections of heads disappearing below the tempest of jostling flat-headed heads. Behind this mob a huge figure could be seen in the distance exhorting the rabble onward, while brandishing a shinny club and occasionally using it to whack an unruly subject in the head.
BamaOay watched in horror as his first rank finally broke in total disorder and ran headlong into his second phalanx. Thankfully, the second echelon were more hardcore cannibals than the garden-variety carnivores of the first wave and most prevented the cowards from successfully escaping.
“Moonbeam, don’t let those chickens through!” bellowed the President at the top of his mighty lungs.
“What’s a chicken?” Moonbeam asked.
“You fucking dickwad, you don’t know what a chicken is?”
“No, sire...is it like a ‘cac cac’ (dog)?”
Frustrated by the subhuman intellect the mighty King gave up in frustration, “Oh, screw it! Just turn those fucking sissies around!”
“How?”
“Knock the living ‘sunlights’ out of them, that’s how!”
“Club our own folk?”
“Yes, knock the crap out of those chick...” BamaOay thought better of his choice of words, “cac cacs!”
“But, why?”
“Do you want to be the one who gets the rain of rocks on his noodle?”
There was but a momentary hushed silence as the second in command considered the alternative. “No, I not want that!” shouted the brave warlock who next could be heard hollering at his men, “Club those cac cacs! Drive them back!”
Some of the first chickens got through, but now everyone was turned around, turned back in the direction of the fusillade to, once again, play their part. Their chanting once again commenced in the hopes it might do something, even as the leading edge of their grand phalanx began to again hesitate under a renewed onslaught of pelting.
Even though the rock slinging had caught him completely by surprise, BamaOay had a backup plan if his second group of meat eaters did not succeed. Yes, his military strategy was uncomplicated and called upon the simple bludgeoning of the enemy with wave upon hairy wave of Jackasses to overwhelm his foe.
“Moonbeam, launch the second wave.”
“Yes, my King.”
BamaOay saw his primordial schwerpunkt, a force of forward pointing spears of the second phalanx march off and within a short time began closing on the enemy fortification. The first of those unlucky enough to be at the forefront of the attack could be heard screaming as they came face-to-face with a concentrated fire of stones before falling, bruised, cut, unconscious. Those behind the fallen now found themselves running into the same barrage, or if lucky, tripping over the felled bodies of their comrades and exposing less of themselves to attack. The mass of those tripping, stumbling, bumbling and screaming Jackasses began to grow like cords of wood before the ranks of the Round Heads.
BamaOay saw the fear in some of his warriors’ eyes, the abrasions to their bodies, and the faltering will to fight. He did not care and had purposely expended those tribal members who he considered worthless save for the roll of human shield. BamaOay cared little for their wellbeing, or sacrifice, especially if the day was lost. BamaOay was, however, a little desperate to see many of these weaklings hold their positions, at least for as long as it took to tire the enemy, or deplete their stocks of rocks.
They had to eventually run out, right? he asked himself.
He had to act quickly to regain their confidence and see them stand firm under the onslaught.
“They need to see me! They need to see my magic club!” shouted BamaOay.
There was no high ground nearby, the plain was as flat a board. He had to get above the sea of dancing heads.
“Moonbeam, quick, bend over!”
“What for?”
“I need to get on your shoulders, so the troops can see me!”
“But, I have a bad back.”
“Dash it all! You’re right. Okay, just let me climb up on your back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am sure! Get down! Hurry, we don’t have much time!”
Grabbing handfuls of back hair BamaOay skittled up onto the medicine man’s backside. Soon, the Barbarian King was up and riding Moonbeam like some wooly steed.
He attempted to get his men’s attention bellowing with his mighty lungs out above the tumult, “Listen up my Jackasses!”
The Wizard could not stand up straight, such was his pain.
BamaOay did not feel he was elevated high enough. “Hurry up, stand up you pig!”
Staggering Moonbeam wobbled up straight under the burden, as the King of Jackasses set about yelling into his ear and at the grand mob.
“Listen to me!” screamed the Barbarian, once up.
“Listen to me you idiots!”
No good,