"Thank you, lord! Your mercy knows no bounds!" Frollo said.
“Laying it on thick, isn’t he?” I asked.
“It’s fine. He’s a sniveling sycophant. More pleased with his power than his duty. Aren’t you, you little shitgoblin?” Cord said.
He nudged the priest with his foot. Rage tried to bubble to Frollo’s lips, his face growing red. He opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. The flush drained from his face, pallor replacing the beet glow as Lux approached. She stood before him and smiled. A shudder rippled through my stomach at the look. It’s the sort of look you give a puppy. Right before you eat it alive.
A yellow glow surrounded Lux's hand, then detached itself like a small cloud. It floated to land on Frollo, suffusing his skin, tinging him a pale dandelion before fading. A moment passed, then the priest coughed. He coughed again, the sound like a small cloth ripping, and tears leaked from his eyes. He coughed once more, then moaned, eyes widening. His guts gurgled like a fountain trying to pump dust, and he let a tremendous fart.
“Oh gods,” he moaned.
He fell face-first to the dust, and yanked his trousers down. Grunts escaped his throat as he turned red once more, straining with the effort to pass whatever wanted free. Another massive fart passed from him, and he screamed as a shit-covered frog ejected from between his ass cheeks. It landed on the grass nearby, let a quiet ribbit, then hopped away into the field.
The last of the crowd broke at the display of sorcery, fleeing at the downfall of their patron. He moaned once more and tipped over in the dirt, trousers still around his knees, one hand clutching his ass. Cord knelt beside him, a dangerous light in his eyes.
"Now, how about that respect?" he asked, his voice quiet as a razor through flesh.
Frollo nodded, and rose, his face a pale green. He wrung his hands, and his lips moved in silent prayer. I could only hope that in his own mind he now considered himself unclean and fought with the revelation. Cord patted him on the back, his grin back in place.
***
Respect to the Cult of Oros meant we had full hospitality. New clothing, fresh food—meat, for the first time in ages, real meat—and just about anything else we needed or wanted. We'd been guaranteed privacy and the upper floor of the inn, and Cord took advantage.
"So, what now?" I asked.
He shrugged, a puzzled look on his face. "I hadn't expected this, to be honest. But it's not sustainable. We've still got to do something about these people. Even if we did the right thing and moved on, they'd still be here. The village would still suffer."
"What if we just killed them all?" Rek asked.
"Messy. I mean, I'm on board in spirit."
"We could turn them all to stone," Lux suggested.
"That's... tempting. Can we do that?"
"I have no idea."
"That's not helpful."
"You didn't specify whether it should be actionable," I pointed out.
"That is an impressive word."
"Thank you."
"But really unhelpful."
"Stick them on a boat?"
"They can row back."
"What if it's on fire?"
"I feel like we keep coming back to this murder thing. Normally I'd be proud of you, but we're trying not to leave a pile of bodies."
"Why?"
"It would make me a hypocrite."
"How so?"
"I don't like being murdered."
"And?"
"Do unto others. Golden Rule. Sheesh."
"I thought the Golden Rule was they who have the gold get to bugger anyone they want."
"That's... that's better than the other way I've heard it."
"Which is?"
"Something about making rules."
"Rules are better than buggery?"
"I mean, in some cases. Consent is important."
"I'm not saying it's not. I'm saying sex is far more interesting than an ordinance telling me where I can shit."
"Point taken. But what are we going to do with these damn cultists?"
"What about a really big pit?" Lux supplied.
Cord slapped his forehead. "No. No murder. Why does this argument feel so circular?"
"Your head's circular," Rek rumbled.
"Is it murder if we just kind of... leave them down there?" Lux asked.
"First of all, fuck you, Rek. Second of all, I... don't know?" Cord said.
A knock at the door finally interrupted our argument, drawing a sigh of relief from the group. I got up to answer it, pulling it open with an irritated look. Frollo stood on the other side, wringing his hands. I noticed they were red and raw. He must have been washing them since Lux cast the spell on him. He cleared his throat and winced, as if he expected another frog to crawl from it.
"Is the Chosen of Oros available?"
"Do you have an appointment?" I asked.
"What?"
"An appointment, you shit-licking little toadstool. Do you have one?"
Anger flashed across his features, but the sight of Cord over my shoulder caused him to swallow it.
"N- no."
"Would you like to make one?"
"Yes, okay."
"And what time works for you?"
"Immediately."
"Sorry, I only have soon, later, and go fuck yourself."
"Soon, then."
"And the nature of your business?"
"An urgent message for the Chosen."
"Can you tell me the message?"
He licked his lips. "Sure. Sure."
I waited.
"Trouble from the north."
"Is that all?"
He shifted from foot to foot. "It looks like an army."
"Okay, thanks then," I said, and slammed the door.
I waited for the sound of his footsteps receding and turned back to the group.
"Bigger problems, then," Cord said.
"Yeah, I said."What now?"
"If we run, we leave things as they'd been, and it's likely everyone gets slaughtered."
"So..."
"We fight."
A groan went up from the group.
So Long, and Thanks for All the Flesh
Ferd stopped us halfway out of the inn. He staggered into Cord, then reeled back. He peered out through one bleary eye beneath his mop of hair, then exhaled a cloud of alcohol in a sudden belch. Cord reeled back, but the man gripped him by the arms, holding him fast.
"Oros," he hissed. "The dead come, you must meet them."
Cord shook free, and I pressed Ferd to the side before Rek could take his head off. We moved on, Ferd hissing after us.
"Save the town!"
We swept from the inn to find Frollo and his warrior-priests arrayed for battle, dressed in mail and clutching polearms, swords, and other weapons. I was a little impressed that a small temple in the middle of nowhere managed to scrounge up this sort of armament in short order, and wondered what other secrets they hid.
We met Frollo, following his gaze north, to where a line of dust marred the near horizon.
"Any thoughts, priest?" Cord asked.
"I think it's something foul," Frollo replied.
Cord nodded. "Rek, Lux—I need you to stay here. Help the priests out."
He pulled us to the side, leaning in.
"I also need you to keep an eye on these backstabbing bastards. Rek, if you get a chance, find me a heart for that Harrower engine. We might need to make a quick escape."
"You and Nenn going to be okay?" Rek asked.
Cord grinned. "God to kill, army to stop. We'll be fine."
I moved to Lux, heart beating like a hammer. She looked wan, paler than before.
"Healing me do that?"
She nodded. I embraced her, full and hard, and she leaned into it this time. When we separated, she wore a smile. I thought of her in the deadlands, of how bright she'd been, how full of life.
"Drain them dry," I said.
She nodded, and I walked back to Cord
. Rek joined us, his axe in his hand. Lux stood to the other side, Rek handing us each a pack. Then they joined the priests, who had already begun to set up crude fortifications and barriers.
Cord clapped me on the shoulder.
"Just like old times, eh?"
“Seems like there was more money then.”
“Yeah, but no glory.”
“You’re in it for the glory now?”
“I’m always in it for the glory.”
“Really.”
“And the money.”
“But there’s no money.”
“Thus, the glory.”
"South, huh?” I asked. Mostly to change the subject. This could have gone on for a while.
"Yeah," Cord said.
"So away from the army of undead?"
"Yeah."
"What about the glory?"
“This again? Trust me, the glory is this way.”
“Okay, why then?”
Cord shrugged. "Dunno. Something feels off about the old man. Maybe I'm being paranoid. Maybe just difficult."
"You know, if you're wrong, there's a good chance we're leaving everyone to die."
Cord glanced over his shoulder. He seemed to weigh the decision for a moment, then shrugged. "Better to die fighting, I'd think."
"Better than what?"
"Than living under the heel."
There it was again. His contempt for the oppressors and the ones letting it happen. I knew no argument I made would reach him. Midian proved that. We climbed in a small boat waiting at the shore. Cord rowed us across the river in quick strokes. We beached on the other side in short order, a long plain ahead of us, bounded by the mountains. Tall grasses waved in the winds. I looked back, across the river. From here, the line of dust from the approaching army was even smaller.
"How long?" I asked.
Cord shaded his eyes, peered across with me. "Four, five days."
We turned and headed south.
"Can we kill a god?" I asked.
"We can do anything we want. We're the Godslayers."
I made a face. "Are we?"
Cord shrugged. "Anything's possible."
"Hooray for possibility."
***
There are places they hang paintings of the prairie. Tall grasses, maybe a forlorn and abandoned temple, sometimes a dog. It's romanticized in the city. "Look at these places. Look at these people. Tough. Salt-of-the-earth." It's horseshit. What the plains are is boring. Nothing but grass and sky and dirt and bugs. Fart on the prairie, and the wind'll take it to the coast because there's nothing in the way. Forget privacy if you've got to piss, or worse. Thankfully, Cord still respected me enough to give me his back and silence. Nothing worse than a piss-talker. Someone didn't raise those people right. It's not chatty business.
We'd been walking for the better part of the day, the sun steadily sliding toward the horizon. It bled orange as it did, like an egg broken on a wall, until the light faded, and Cord called a halt. We'd made good time from the river, and we built a small fire, throwing bedrolls down beside it. I rummaged in my pack, coming up with a couple of sausage wrapped in paper, and a small loaf of bread. Seemed the innkeeper didn't entirely hate us.
We set to eating, chewing in silence for a while before wrapping the rest up and stretching out. Cord pulled something long and narrow from his pack, unwrapping the cloth around it. The blade shone in the firelight as he exposed the steel, and I recognized it for the one we'd found in the tomb.
"What'd you bring that thing for?"
Cord shrugged. "Figured it knew about Oros, might be useful."
"Loud is what it was."
"Ah, we've had a talk about that."
"You talked to the sword?"
"I talk to a lot of things. This one just happens to answer." he shook it a little. "Say hi to Nenn, sword."
"Hi Nenn!" the voice that came out was enthusiastic, if at a normal volume.
"Tell Nenn your name, sword."
"My name's Dyrk!"
"Dyrk?"
"With a Y!"
"Why?" I asked.
"Thought it'd be funny," Cord said. "Dirk, Dyrk. You know, stabby."
"Ah."
"Tell her about Oros, Dyrk."
"I estimate we've got an 85% chance of dying horribly!"
"Shit," I muttered.
"No, not that," Cord said, shaking the blade again. "The other thing."
"Oh! Oros is super attractive!"
"What?"
Cord was nodding. "I think we've got a chance here."
I raised one eyebrow. "I think all that dying cut off the circulation to your brain. What're you gonna do, fuck them to death?"
Cord waggled his eyebrows. "What is best in life, Nenn?"
I lay back on my bedroll, staring up at the stars. "Friends? Family?"
"Yeah, those are pretty good. But what about fucking a god?"
"Look, I know you're messing with me, so I'm giving you another chance. What's the deal with this god?"
"Hotter than shit."
"Shut up."
"Hotter than you."
"Impossible."
"It's a god."
"Have you seen me?"
"Yeah."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Go to sleep, Nenn."
"You go to sleep."
I waited for a riposte, and instead long snores came back. I closed my eyes and let the prairie wind lull me to sleep.
***
We rose early, Dyrk slung on Cord's belt, the wind blowing its ever-annoying melody. Before long, the sword was singing along.
"I'm a swooo-rd
On this belt I ride
And I want to stab things
Dead or alive"
I shot Cord a glare, and for his part, he had the good grace to shrug. Three hours and forty-five verses later, we arrived at a stretch of cleared earth. Rain had begun to fall, making a haze of the day, and from a distance, it seemed someone set a lone rock there. As we approached, I noticed carrion birds circling above.
We stepped into the field, mud sucking at our boots, and were able to see the rock clearer. It was the desiccated head of a man, skin long dried and brown from the sun, hair and lips withered, the eyes surprisingly wet. I watched as a fat raven landed atop it and ripped an eye from its socket. The head screamed out. Blood thin as gruel ran from the wound in the rain.
"Fuck!"
Its remaining eye rolled, and the skull shifted in our direction.
"You there! Hey, you! Shoo this damn thing away, would you?"
I gave it a skeptical look.
"Whaddya think, Dyrk?"
The sword spoke up. "There's a 25% possibility this is a trap!"
I sighed in exasperation and charged the bird, shouting. It spread its wings, and with an indignant squawk, took flight, splashing me with water.
“Dirty fuckin’ birds,” I muttered.
"Gods, thank you. Those only regrow once every few years. Little bastard was just waiting. Hey, I don't suppose you're going to see Oros?"
"Well..." I started.
"Yeah, we are," Cord interrupted. "Why?"
"I can be useful."
"How?"
"I know things. Like how to get into the tomb. How to get out of the tomb."
"Interesting."
"Wait," I said. "You're not going to trust this thing, are you? I mean, it was probably planted here for a reason."
Cord turned to me. "Are you saying you're prejudiced against the dead?"
"What? No. But people don't just get themselves buried for being friendly."
"Not true," the head said. "My friend, Gen, was once buried for giving a squirrel a nut."
"Why?" I asked.
"It was a fifty-foot squirrel."
"Hmph," I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes right out of their sockets.
"Well?" Cord asked.
"I'm leery," I said.
"You're an anti-deadite," Cord said.
"What?"
"You're a rabid anti-deadite!"
I threw up my hands and turned, yelling to the prairie. "Fine, fuck it, bring him with. I mean, I haven't got a shovel, and there's no reason for an undead monster to betray us at all, but sure—"
When I turned back, Cord was already sawing at the corpse's neck.
"This is super yucky!" Dyrk chimed out.
He was through in a matter of seconds, and held the dead guy's head up by the hair. Gristle hung from the ragged edge of the severed neck, and rain made rivulets in the muddy skin.
"This is mortifying," the head said.
"No, that's your body. Now which way?" Cord asked.
The head spun in his grip to point a bit to the west, and we set out.
"Are there others like you?" I asked.
"No. Dead. Long dead." A note of sadness tinged his voice, and I let it drop.
We left the field not long after, and the grasses gave way to a broken road, the stones discolored and sharp at the edges.
"This was the Tevint Way. At one time, it spanned the entire empire."
"What was that like?" I asked.
"Beautiful. Did you know this was all forest and pastoral fields? Oros so utterly wrecked the land, they left little else than this flat waste."
We fell silent again as we walked, and I tried to imagine it. A village here, rolling hills there, beautiful copses of pine and maple and oak. Farmers leading their livestock out to pasture, lumberjacks working in the forest. The sound of children at play, of mothers calling them home. The sounds of laughter and love in the night, accompanied by fiddle and drum. Now only the wind played, and the grass rustled in time.
"What the hell is it with men and hubris?" I asked. "Why do they think they always know best, and when they don't, claim it so anyway? What is it about the urge to break and remake and break again, to reforge the world until it looks like the thing in your head instead of the thing handed to you?"
"The pity of that is any artist will tell you no matter how steady their hand, no matter how long they refine the thing they've created, it always falls short. Inability to appreciate beauty as it is might be one of the universe's greatest tragedies," Cord said. "And they're dicks."
The stones in the path began to appear more whole, the grasses shorter. Ahead, an edifice rose from the flat plain like a lord in his seat. Cut from red rock, the sides sloped together until they met a flat roof. Carved in the face of the building was a single glyph, but as Lux wasn't here, it was impossible for any of us to read. Around it were arrayed several smaller buildings, and I suspected they housed the families of those who'd been interred here as guards.
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