Critical Failures V

by Robert Bevan

  Even for someone like Randy, who often stretched suspension of disbelief to the point of tearing in order to try to see the good in people, their grins couldn’t be interpreted as anything but malicious. He had every reason to believe he and Denise were seconds away from certain death, but somehow he just couldn’t muster up any fear. He stood tall, ready to draw his sword, but not before the creatures had made their intentions plain.

  The scorpion person on the right looked down at Randy, then at Denise, then past them into the part of the desert through which they’d traveled to get here. He shrugged with something like bemused satisfaction, then they both lowered their scimitars. That was a step in the right direction, Randy supposed, but the scimitars may have been the least threatening things about them. Their scorpion claws looked like they could take the heads off Randy and Denise’s shoulders in one snip, and their stingers would probably pierce through their hearts and out of their backs, killing them long before the venom had time to do anything.

  The one on the left stroked the neck of one of the camels with its human-like hand. “Fortune smiles on my camel this night.”

  That was probably an ancient proverb in their culture. Randy did his best to respond in kind.

  “A penny saved is a penny earned.”

  The scorpion people glanced at one another briefly.

  Denise turned to Randy and mouthed, “The fuck?”

  “For my camel is wiser than some who roam the desert.”

  Were all their proverbs about camels? Randy hurriedly tried to think up another response.

  “A rolling stone gathers no moss.”

  Denise buried her face in her palms, which Randy didn’t appreciate. He was doing his best.

  “An open flame on flat ground may attract predators.”

  That one was a little more helpful at least. Practical advice.

  Randy offered a polite bow before responding. “You are what you eat.”

  The scorpion people grinned again. The one with the fondness for camels gave his wisest a little squeeze on its deflated hump. “Then tonight we shall be fools rather than camels.”

  It took a few seconds, but Randy finally grasped the implication.

  Denise shook her head. “Goddammit.”

  The larger of the scorpion people snapped its claws eagerly. “We offer you the option to choose which one of you will take our camel’s place.”

  Randy knew they were outmatched. If it came to a fight, he and Denise would most likely both die. Running away was even less of an option. These creatures were almost certainly faster than either of them, and better equipped for the terrain. More importantly, Randy was much faster than Denise, and he couldn’t leave her to be slaughtered and eaten, even if it was only moments before he was slaughtered and eaten himself. There was only one option.

  Randy stepped forward. “Take me.”

  Denise glared at him. “Are you fuckin’ retarded? He was asking us to choose which one of us they gonna eat.”

  “I know what he was asking.” Randy looked the scorpion person in the eye. “If you promise to release my friend, I will gladly give my life for your nourishment.”

  The scorpion person nodded. “Very well. Your bravery exceeds your intelligence.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Hold up!” said Denise. “Fuck that. At least let me make a counter offer.”

  The scorpion people spoke for a moment in a language that sounded like a recording of two arguing gibbons played in reverse. When their deliberations had concluded, the one doing the negotiations looked down at Denise.

  “We shall hear your offer.”

  Denise placed both hands at the hem of her battleskirt and slowly lifted it. “What if I offer my own body, not as a meal, but as a woman?”

  Randy looked away. “Come on, Denise. Just this once, show a little bit of dignity.”

  “Fuck you, Randy. I’m tryin’ to save your life.”

  The scorpion people were making sounds that were neither laughter nor gagging. It almost sounded like... discussion?

  He turned back toward them. They were speaking in their own language, but they actually seemed to be having a serious conversation about Denise’s offer. Randy didn’t know whether to feel relieved or horrified. The code of ethics which had guided Randy’s conscience ever since he became a paladin was failing him now.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered to Denise.

  Denise gave him a wide smile. “I’ve never been this sure about anything in my life.”

  “We accept your terms, dwarf,” said the larger of the scorpion people. “My name is Raslan.” It gestured to the other one. “This is Azhar.” Then it backed up to the tent on its eight legs with a grace that confirmed Randy’s suspicion that he and Denise had no chance of outrunning them.

  Denise rubbed her palms together. “All right! So how we gonna do this? One at a time? Rotisserie style? If Randy wants in we can do it like one of his goofy proverbs. How about it, Randy? One in the hand and two in the bush.”

  “Please, Denise,” pleaded Randy. “Just let them eat me.”

  “Uh uh, my friend. Tonight’s menu is pulled pork and tender loins.”

  Raslan pulled back one of the flaps. “Please accompany Azhar into the tent.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Denise walked into the tent, followed by Azhar.

  Raslan let the tent flap fall back into place and scuttled over to Randy. It must have sensed his concern. “Your friend will not be harmed.”

  Randy sat on the ground and tried not to pay attention.

  “Azhar, is it?” said Denise from inside the tent. Randy could hear her more clearly than he would have liked, considering what he expected to hear very shortly. “My name is Denise, and for the record I ain’t never been with one of your kind before. So let’s maybe try to ease into it a bit, take it one step at a – Goddamn!The fuck is – Oh my God!”

  Randy started to stand, but Raslan placed one of his huge open pincers on Randy’s shoulders, ostensibly to comfort him, but the fact that his head was between the open pincer jaws was not lost on him.

  “Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you’re really up in there.” Denise groaned and panted. “Whoa, easy now. There you go. Holy shit! Is that... Oh my God! Wait, no. Give me some time to... Did you just... OH MY GOD! How can there still be any more... Dear Lord, that’s enough! Please! Have you never whacked off in your life?” She let out a long sigh. “Hey, man. Don’t sweat it. We can try again in a few minutes if you like. I don’t s’pose you got a cigarette?”

  Azhar exited the tent looking no different than before. Denise, on the other hand, stumbled behind like she’d just survived getting hit by a bus. Her clothes were disheveled, her hair and beard clung to her face with sweat, and she didn’t appear to know which way she wanted to walk.

  “Denise,” said Randy. “Are you all right.”

  Denise nodded, and her eyes grew more focused.

  Raslan likewise approached Azhar, the former placing one of its human-like hands on the latter’s shoulder. “Did all go well?”

  Azhar nodded. “My burden is relieved.”

  “You bet your ass it is,” Denise muttered softly enough (hopefully) such that only Randy could hear. “Son of a bitch relieved about eight gallons of burden into me over the course of five seconds.” She sounded more annoyed than revulsed and horror-stricken, which Randy thought more appropriate responses. “I’ll give him a few minutes to recharge, and see if he wants to have another –”

  An animal scream rang out in the night, something like a cross between a donkey and a goat on fire. When Randy turned to look, Raslan and Azhar both had their tail stingers buried in the neck of their wise camel. The scream turned into a gurgle as blood dripped out of the camel’s neck. Tiny plants sprouted where each drop of blood splattered on the dry ground. Larger plants grew where it coalesced into pools.

  When the camel was dead beyond all doubt, Raslan and Azhar removed their stingers, and th
e camel fell sideways with a thud. As if it was the most routine thing in the world, Azhar scuttled to the other side of the camel, reached over with his pincers, and lifted the animal’s left hooves, leaving its underbelly vulnerable to Raslan. Raslan made a swift and powerful swing with the pointed tip of his right pincer, slicing the camel open from it’s junk to its neck. A gush of entrails, blood, and other organs and bodily fluids spilled out, prompting the sudden growth of shrubs, vines, and small fruit-bearing trees.

  The camel’s body started to deflate like a leaking balloon as the earth sucked the moisture out of its body. Raslan and Azhar snipped and tore at the loosened skin, exposing bare muscle onto which they sprinkled freshly growing herbs and squeezed the juices of whatever fruits were in reach. As they watched, the meat shrunk and hardened as it detached from the ligaments and bones.

  “Hot damn!” said Denise. “Camel jerky!”

  Randy slapped her lightly on the side of the face with the back of his hand.

  “Shit, Randy! The fuck was that for?”

  “I appreciate you savin’ my life like you done, but I ain’t gonna tolerate any more of those racially disparaging remarks.”

  “You stupid asshole. I said jerky, as in dried meat.”

  “Oh,” said Randy. “I misinterpreted your meaning. I apologize.”

  “Come, new friends!” Raslan called to them. “You must be hungry after all your travels. Let us dine together.”

  Randy and Denise walked around to the head of the mummifying camel, where the plants were less dense, and accepted long dry strips of dried camel meat. Randy had to admit that camel tasted better than he would have given it credit for. The juices and herbs were a nice touch.

  “Bring out the wine,” said Azhar.

  Raslan pulled a large glass bottle full of dark purple liquid out of a saddlebag on his back. He took out the stopper, swigged a bit, then passed it to Randy. “Try this.”

  “That’s very generous,” said Randy, accepting the bottle. As much as he appreciated the meat, it hadn’t done anything to sate his thirst. He smelled the wine before putting it to his mouth. It was bitter.

  “It’s distilled from our own venom,” said Azhar

  Randy sprayed wine all over the plated mail on Raslan’s chest.

  Raslan frowned. “The distillation process renders the venom harmless.”

  Azhar covered his mouth with his hand to hide a smile. “Perhaps I should have mentioned that.”

  Raslan looked at him and smiled. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Come on, Randy,” said Denise. “Don’t hog the whole bottle. Give it here and let me try some.”

  Randy passed the bottle. He’d try another sip later.

  As Denise put the bottle to her lips, Azhar and Raslan’s smiles disappeared.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Denise. “Y’all Muslims or somethin’? Women ain’t s’posed to drink?”

  Azhar gave Raslan a small reassuring smile. “Perhaps one sip wouldn’t hurt. She is a dwarf, after all.”

  Raslan took a deep breath, then nodded. “One small sip.”

  Denise took her sip while Azhar and Raslan watched with anxious eyes. When she was finished, Azhar quickly relieved her of the bottle.

  “So,” Denise said to Raslan, breaking the uncomfortable silence following the booze situation. “How ‘bout after dinner you and me go in the tent and you pump me full of scorpion sauce?”

  If the short silence following the booze situation had been uncomfortable, the silence that hung in the air now was burlap-and-broken-glass underwear as all eyes were fixed on Denise.

  Raslan smiled awkwardly. “That will not be necessary. The eggs are already fertilized.”

  “My eggs?” said Denise. “I don’t think so. Your buddy drops a big load, I’ll grant you that. But we ain’t even close to the same species.”

  Raslan cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “Not your eggs. Azhar’s eggs.”

  Azhar lowered the bottle after having taken several deep gulps. “Aaahhh, that’s so nice. I haven’t been able to have a drink in weeks.”

  Denise’s eyes and mouth switched sizes. “The fuck are you talking about?”

  “How is this unclear?” asked Raslan. “You offered us your womb to carry my wife’s scorplings to term.”

  “I did no such motheruckin’ – Hang on, Azhar’s a woman? But she had a dick as big as my goddamn arm!”

  Randy held his breath, hoping he was correct in thinking that Denise had the best possible defense against being murdered right now. Raslan’s furious eyes suggested he was on the fence about it.

  “Relax, dearest,” said Azhar. “They are obviously unfamiliar with scorpionfolk. The dwarf meant no insult. Have a drink.”

  Raslan took the bottle and drank deeply, never taking his eyes away from Denise.

  “What you mistook for a penis,” Azhar explained to Denise, “is actually an extension of my vagina. Scorpionfolk eggs adapt easily to foreign hosts.”

  Randy hadn’t seen that look on Denise’s face since she found out her balls had been eaten.

  “I f-f-feel so v-v-v-violated.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Azhar. “We thought you knew. Do try to relax though. Stress is bad for the babies.”

  Raslan’’s mood seemed to have lightened since he had a bit of wine in him. He grinned down at Denise. “Have some more camel, dwarf. You’re eating for nine now.”

  Chapter 19

  As Frank climbed from stool to tabletop to address what residents remained at the Whore’s Head Inn, Dave and Chaz inched closer to the door. Frank looked more composed than he had in days. His head and hands still looked like pink half-deflated balloons, but the swelling had gone down considerably and he was finally able to talk somewhat normally. After a couple of nights of magically induced sleep, courtesy of Rhonda, he no longer had that crazy bloodlust in his eyes. But it didn’t hurt to be prepared for the worst.

  There was no need to hush the crowd. Being early morning, no one was feeling particularly chatty yet.

  “I’d like to begin,” said Frank, “by apologizing for my behavior over the past couple of days. I was frustrated and angry. And I still am. But perhaps I was a tad overzealous with my response to the situation.”

  “Fuck that!” shouted a dwarf at the back of the room. “I can forgive a lot, but I’ve got a family to get back to. I still say hang the little prick!”

  Murmurs of agreement reverberated around the room.

  “Better yet,” said Stuart’s wife, Rose, thereby doubling the amount of words Dave had ever heard her speak. She stood on a chair, a cloak covering her revealing armor, and held up one of the many wanted posters that Dave had noticed on display around the city. “I say we hand him over to the authorities.”

  She’d opened strong, standing above the crowd and dramatically thrusting the paper into the air, but her follow through was lacking. The crowd grumbled their disappointment.

  “My husband nearly died helping him rescue his sister from a vampire,” she continued. “A quick hanging isn’t good enough for me. I want to return to my real life knowing that he’s stuck back here, languishing in a prison within a prison for the rest of his miserable life.”

  The crowd was more receptive now. A change of phrasing made all the difference.

  “He’s a weasely little bastard,” argued the dwarf who’d suggested hanging Tim. “He’ll just find a way to escape.”

  “Escape to what?” asked Fritz, the creator of the masterwork dildo stake. “He’d be friendless, penniless, the most wanted fugitive in the kingdom. He’ll spend the rest of his life blowing bugbears for shots of stonepiss. That’s even better than –”

  Frank banged hard on the table with Rhonda’s staff, which he appeared to have borrowed exclusively for that purpose.

  “Everyone please listen!” said Frank. “You’re all missing the point, just as I did. Instead of focusing on revenge fantasies, we should be focused on getting back those dice. If we
catch Tim in the process, we can discuss then what form of justice is most fit for him to serve. What we need now are ideas.”

  “What have you been able to get out of Mordred?” asked Stuart.

  Frank frowned. “Not a lot. I’m beginning to doubt if the guy we’ve got tied up in the cellar even is Mordred.”

  “Of course he’s Mordred,” snapped Gilbert. “I’d bet my life on it.”

  “That’s fine. But you can’t bet all our lives on it.”

  “What makes you think he isn’t Mordred?” asked Chaz. Dave cringed. He wanted as little attention brought their way as possible.

  “Nothing he’s told us suggests that he’s anything but an NPC,” said Rhonda. “And he’s been extremely cooperative in answering our questions.”

  Gilbert scoffed. “I’d be cooperative too, if you were lapping up every last drop of bullshit that I was feeding you.”

  Rhonda put on her shitkicking face as she glared at Gilbert. “There is further evidence that he’s not Mordred. We’ve been observing him around the clock, and not once has he gone into one of those catatonic trances. Do you really think that all of Mordred’s other avatars are hanging around in comas just so we don’t get suspicious about this guy?”

  “Who knows? It sounds pretty brilliant to me. Keeping us all in the dark while he picks up bits and pieces of information from our conversations here. Besides, the other Mordreds might be able to move about freely while this one sleeps. Whatever happened to that... free-spirited... female dwarf? We know that Mordred is quick to slip into a coma when he gets a good beating.”