Four Beheadings and a Funeral

by Ugland, Eric

  Not to brag, but with strength like mine, the butt of the spear was just as deadly as the point. Stab a fucker, spin the spear and brain the next asshole in line.

  It was short work, and there was some part of me, deep down, that felt bad for the furry dudes we were fighting. But, then again, they’d come for us. We didn’t seek them out.

  I came to a stop, running out of things to kill for a moment, and realized that the skuggashuds were now actively running from me. Some were heading back down the cliff, others were just looking for easier targets. But whatever the case, I’d managed to give the Legion stretcher-bearers time to get their fallen comrades off the line.

  The skuggashuds were somewhat on their back feet. All I had to do was approach any part of the fight, and they’d move. Which meant the Legion could hold their line.

  But the bigger problem was, well, bigger.

  Larry and Reggie.

  I had a terrible idea. Which I was sure meant it was brilliant. I just needed a length of rope...

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I was at the back of the fighting area grabbing a length of rope from one of the logistics soldiers hanging behind the line when I realized what was going on with Reggie and Larry.

  The central cohort would charge forward with spears out, trying to puncture the beast. Or push it back. But the thing was like a building. No amount of men or women, regardless of the number of minotaurs among them, was going to push it anywhere it didn’t want to go. And it didn’t seem like it was overly bothered by the spears poking it. Annoyed, sure. But I couldn’t even see any blood on the beast. At least, blood that wasn’t from a skuggashud or human.

  It wasn’t even fully on the top of the wall. The part with all the smaller legs, the stumpy body, was still over the wall. Which meant it could probably push forward any time it wanted. I was a little worried thinking about why Reggie and Larry had stopped.

  Also, only Larry had bothered with the fire. Reggie had yet to breathe anything other than air, but I didn’t believe for a minute that Larry had magic breath and Reggie did not. Reggie was just happy to snap his head down and grab a bite to eat. There seemed to be little concern for what he was eating, because it seemed to be skuggashuds just as often, if not more-so, than Legionnaires.

  Larry, on the other hand, did his best to cook everything.

  The mancer, or at least that’s what I assumed the robed dude was, looked like shit, barely able to support himself. But each time Larry reared back to throw down the flame, the mancer got his shield in place, and held the fire back. It was impressive.

  Larry and the Legion were in a stalemate. A fake stalemate, because as soon as Larry and Reggie started moving forward, the Legion was toast.

  I looked back at the gathered crowd, and I noticed that while it had thinned out, there were more men and women with arms and armor. No one was coming in to help, but they were ready to fight. Why were they waiting?

  Then it happened.

  The eborja took a step. This time the legion didn’t even bother with their testudo; they just scattered.

  A big hand-paw on the end of a ridiculously long leg slammed on the ground, and ReggieLarry moved forward.

  Reggie went and reached right over the Legion and snatched someone who’d been watching the battle from their balcony. Some fancy-dressed asshole disappeared down Reggie’s bottomless gullet.

  This seemed to make the people upset, and all of a sudden there was a whole hell of a lot of screaming. Which, you know, naturally, seemed to excite ReggieLarry. I got it; as a super-apex predator type thing, screaming treats were the best. The duo surged forward.

  The Legion tried to reform, but that just resulted in a lot of dudes getting squished.

  Time to do something stupid. My stock-in-trade.

  I took a few big steps, and in three strides, I was at top speed. I ignored the skuggashuds as they got out of my way, and I focused on foot placement. My Art of Movement ability came in real handy as I didn’t slip even once on the slick surface of blood and guts. I snatched a second fallen spear on my way to ReggieLarry.

  Ten yards from my target, I threw the first spear as hard as I could. It sailed true, and hit with a satisfying thunk, actually going into the flesh enough to hold.

  Larry looked over.

  Reggie looked over.

  I wasn’t where they could see me though. I was underneath the eborja’s body. This close, I got a good whiff of him. It stunk of musky rot down there. From the looks of it, he needed some athlete’s foot powder like no one else. Lots of nastiness happening up in the folds of his thick skin.

  As soon as I was on the other side though, I skidded to a stop, and knelt down. I was now closest to Reggie, and I knew Reggie’s predilection for munching. He was going to go down for a bite, and when he did—

  The great long neck, easily hundreds of feet long, started moving down, and Reggie’s head angled ground-ward at a stunning speed.

  I sprinted, worried I might be too slow to be in place when Reggie was close enough to the ground.

  Faster, I told myself. Faster!

  I dug in and found a new gear, sprinting full-out with a spear in one hand, and hurdling over fallen soldiers.

  Reggie had his eye on another balcony watcher.

  I leapt off the wall and parkour'd right up the side of a house onto the roof, leapt over a gap, and pulled myself up onto the balustrade of the balcony just as Reggie got there. His jaws opened wide to snatch a strumpet as a snack.

  “Not today, motherfucker,” I yelled. Then I slid over the table, getting the spear right into the soft spot in the roof of Reggie’s mouth.

  Reggie Righthead immediately reared back, and I jumped, grabbing onto the beast’s big lip, which was as thick around as an oil drum.

  The air whooshed by, and Reggie closed his mouth hard. That drove the spear deeper inside, but then it must have hit something hard because it snapped in two. The wooden haft shot out of his mouth in a shower of splinters, going right over my head.

  I held on tight as we rocketed through the air. There was a stillness as Reggie was at full height once again.

  He could feel me. I could tell. He was trying to see me, but I was on the front of his lip, and his eyes didn’t work that way.

  Hand over hand, I pulled myself over to the side of his closed mouth, and as quickly as I could, I leveraged myself up and onto his giant stout snout. I stood there, and watched his eyes that were taller than me go cross-eyed.

  “Hi fuckwad,” I said, and like I was a quickdraw artist in the old west, I drew the throwing axe and fired it off in one motion. Just not at Reggie. I threw it at Larry.

  Larry got it in the eye. And it must have stung, because he roared.

  I held out my hand and the axe slammed in my hand.

  I threw it again, and nailed Larry. Not quite in the eye, but close enough to make sure that Larry knew the pain was coming from Reggie.

  Larry reared back, and I slipped a loop of rope around the haft of my throwing axe. I had time to test it once before I heard Larry’s gulp of air.

  I jumped off Reggie’s snout.

  Reggie turned to follow my flight, only to get a face full of fire.

  As Larry’s flame roared around me, I threw the axe.

  It thunked into Larry’s neck, and immediately, the rope went taut. I Tarzan’d the fuck out of said rope, swinging fast around to the back of Larry’s neck.

  I started climbing up the neck, which was surprisingly easy considering all the handholds of thick, wrinkled skin.

  Up and up I went, keeping one eye on the activities around me, namely Reggie roaring at Larry for burning the fuck out of him.

  Holding onto Larry with one hand, I held out the other, and the magical axe flew through the air to me. I promptly hauled off and threw the axe at Reggie.

  Bam, in the eye.

  Reggie didn’t wait — he bit at Larry.

  Larry tried to dodge out of the way, I guess forgetting they were connected.r />
  Reggie hit Larry hard, enough that I almost fell off, hanging on Larry’s neck with two fingers and a thumb. I had to use the axe to get back on.

  Which enraged Larry.

  So he threw some hot flame action over onto Reggie.

  Nothing like sibling rivalry to turn a fight around.

  But I still had two more steps in my destruction plan. I threw the axe up at Larry, aiming for the snout.

  The axe sailed end over end in the air, the rope trailing out behind in a rather beautiful sine wave sort of a thing, which was definitely a term I pulled out of the depths of my memory. It hit into the meat with a goodly thunk. I got to play Tarzan a second time, though this go-around required me to swing up and onto the top of Larry’s snout.

  Larry knew something was going on, but he was busy trying to dodge Reggie’s continued bites.

  I had to balance my ass off so I wouldn’t get shaken and fall. I was surfing on an eborja’s nose, waiting for the right moment to enact the stupider portion of my plan. Then it finally happened.

  Larry hauled in a huge gulp of air, and as soon as he started his head going forward, I jumped again, tightening the rope around his mouth, snapping it shut.

  Larry’s massive eyes went wide for one second as all the fire he had in his gullet tried to find a way out.

  It found one.

  Through Larry’s head.

  There was a momentary bulging before the limits of the eborja’s cranium were found, and found wanting. Then, there was a muffled boom followed by a whole lot of heat. Oh, and flesh.

  Larry’s neck stood up straight for a heartbeat, just sort of like it still had a head on the end of it.

  I hung in the air for a second, and then gravity took hold, and I dropped. With the air whipping by, I threw the axe, and let the small piece of unburnt rope run though my hand, telling myself I’d hold on.

  The axe connected with Larry’s upright neck, thunking into the flesh, and I grabbed at the still-smoldering end of the rope.

  One more swing onto the neck. It seemed like that was enough to topple it, as Larry’s neck started going down. Fast.

  We, Larry’ s neck and I, hit the ground. Hard enough that the people around us fell over.

  Also falling over? Reggie.

  There was a plaintive cry, and then the other neck crashed down as well, slamming on top of Larry’s.

  I slowly got to my feet, standing on the back of the fallen beast.

  It would have been a remarkably heroic moment, something written about in history books and immortalized in paintings. Except, you know, that’s when the remaining bits of Larry came down like a ton of, well, cooked meat.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Buried under a pile of seared flesh used to be something I considered as a top way to go. But I was thinking of like Kansas-style ribs, not steaming Larry. But half a dozen and six. You know?

  I heard people talking. Well, more groaning than talking. A lot of people had been injured in that fight. I was actually considering just hanging out in the flesh pile for a few minutes, just so I’d get a momentary reprieve. Despite having no stamina stat, fighting still tired me out. I could just keep going indefinitely if necessary, but it wore on me.

  But soon enough, some hands reached me, pulling meat from one way to the next.

  One minute I’m looking at a slab of blackened ReggieLarry skin, and the next it’s a smiling Legionnaire’s face.

  “He’s here!” the guy yelled, his smile spreading. “You are a hero, sir.”

  “Don’t suppose we can keep that between us?” I asked.

  He looked confused, and I didn’t press the issue.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked. “You must be hurt. I’ll get a healer.”

  “No need,” I said, but the guy was already off.

  Which was, frankly, fine by me. I needed to get out of there. Not only did I not want any renown from this event, I didn’t want to see what the assholes who’d been actively not fighting were going to do to me now that I’d ruined their fun by fighting and winning. It was a little odd to be in the position where I was a hero, and yet I needed to not be a hero.

  It was a little harder than I’d anticipated getting out of the mess. Every time I reached up to grab something and pull myself out of the pit of cooked meat, I grabbed at, well, cooked meat. I’m sure if there had been bones involved, the meat would have had a little more cohesion, holding onto the bones and I might have been able to actually get myself up. However, it seemed that the bones had largely been vaporized in the explosion, and it was mostly just bits and pieces now. But, after a few moments of grossness, and getting a fair amount of Larry grease all over myself, I got to my feet. I waded through the meat until I was standing free and tall on the wall.

  I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to see out there, but I should have known. There was a mad dash for any and all goods you might glean from either the skuggashud or the eborja. Which, in a technical sense, no one should have been touching since I claimed the kill, and so everything that had belonged to the eborja now belonged to me. At least, that’s how I understood things to work.

  People with knives and carts and axes moved about everywhere, the clean-up process already well on the way. I took a second to try and wipe away some of the gore, but that was really an exercise in futility. No part of me was free from vile bits, so all I managed to do was bring separate parts of nasty together for the first time. I felt like the bottom of a taxi cab floor.

  While I stewed in my filth, the leader of the legion walked up to me, shaking his head and smiling.

  “You are certainly some kind of warrior,” he said. “Have you a name?”

  I paused my attempt to get skuggashud brains off my shoulder, and looked at the man. It was not the original Legion commander I’d met, Darby Abington, the man who had taken Benedict’s body from me for a proper Legion burial. This guy was older. Somewhere in his mid-to-late-forties, with a bit of facial hair growth and dark rings under his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t on speaking terms with sleep.

  “Maybe I could tell you my name later,” I said. “Maybe you could help me get out of here without attention.”

  “You think you’re going to be able to hide after half the city saw you slay that thing by yourself?”

  “I hide pretty well.”

  “Bullshit you do.”

  “A guy can dream?”

  “Dream all you want,” he said with a smile, then clapped me on the shoulder. “There’s a few thousand legionnaires willing to do what it takes to thank you for today. Follow.”

  I looked over at the macabre slaughterhouse the top of the wall had become. It was probably better to just leave.

  “Captain Alexander Czubakowski,” the man said. “Are you comfortable sharing your name now?”

  “Montgomery Northwoods,” I said. Oddly, I bristled having to lie to the man. I didn’t necessarily think he was going to blab about me, but why take chances?

  “Huh,” he said, nodding. “That name is familiar.”

  “It’s not exactly my name,” I said, trying to figure out how to plot my path through these lies. “Technically my employer. Just keeps it easier.”

  “You have issues remembering your name?” he asked.

  “I put all my points in strength,” I replied quickly.

  Czubakowski nodded with a sly smile, apparently content believing that explained everything about me. “Glad you did, son. Glad you did.”

  We moved along the wall, weaving between the soldiers. They were cleaning up, helping the injured, or just standing there, wide-eyed. But any time one of them saw me, they paused, and nodded. It was a little odd seeing this sort of response. I’d done things similar to this in my own holding. But well, I suppose these men and women were used to violence, so they appreciated what I’d done and weren’t scared off by it. I felt more comfortable among these people than I did around any of my own people. And that made me feel weird. A lot of feelings going on. Czubakowski
took me down a set of stairs hat led to a walled-in area that was very much Legion only. There, still, I got nods and appreciation.

  “I’m guessing you might want a bath,” Czubakowski said, giving me a look. I realized I was absentmindedly peeling something else’s skin off of my own.

  “Yeah, might be a good idea,” I replied.

  “Can’t say our baths are as good as some you might find in the city,” he said, pushing through a heavy door. “But they get the job done.”

  “That’s all I’m looking for.”

  While we walked through the hallway, soldiers pushed past us. Most everyone seemed to have somewhere to go in a hurry, with us as the standouts having the time to just walk at our own pace.

  “Might want to burn those clothes of yours,” Captain Czubakowski said.

  “You don’t think this is going to come out?” I asked, actually surprised.

  “Skuggashud blood stains most everything. One reason there’s so many people up there to collect the stuff. That and their fur makes for some almost velvety wool.”

  “Waste not want not, I guess.”

  “That’s right. And we’re about to find out what eborja steak tastes like, thanks to you.”

  “Enjoy that.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Any reason you didn’t— I mean, you have mancers. Why only use them defensively?”

  “Most of what comes out of the Emerald Sea can handle magic well. And the times you miss and send magic into the Sea, that’s when you realize why men and metal are best at handling this. Not spell slingers.”

  “What happens?”

  “Nothing good. But it’s hard to really say, because it’s always different. The Sea and magic, just don’t get along.”

  “Makes sense, I guess.”

  “We learned it the hard way.”

  “Why aren’t the locals helping? Do you know?”

  “That’s more of a mystery to me than the Sea itself. No idea.”

  There was a double door at the end of the hallway. Once there, Czubakowski stopped.

  “Bath is through there,” he said. “You’ll have a little time before it gets crowded. I’ll get someone to bring you some clothes. Not sure what we have that doesn’t scream Legion, but we’ll do what we can.”