Mobius

by Garon Whited

  We faded back behind the cliff and up the slope, making use of jutting rocks and the sparse trees to disappear. Firebrand gave it the idea it should go looking for something else to eat and it lumbered off into the trees.

  “What do you think?” I asked, finally. “Will it do?”

  “It will serve admirably—if I can do it at all.”

  “If you can’t, you’ll weaken it enough I can finish it. That’s why we’re out here, just you and I. I could have brought two dozen spearmen, but I thought we should handle it alone.”

  “Thoughtful of you. Thank you.” Huron sat and leaned on a rock, rubbing his eyes and thinking. “Where does it keep its heart?”

  We sat there for a bit, discussing dinosaur anatomy and planning his attack. To get at anything vital in the torso required a lot of penetration. Extremities were more vulnerable, but hitting an artery involved a deep cut. Disabling the extremities would be better, if he could. Cutting a tendon in the leg, near the knee joint, would keep it from kicking effectively. Severing an ankle tendon would still let it kick, but would compromise its mobility. The throat was also a good target, but getting past the head and jaws was the problem. A shot to the brain would be ideal, but that involved being entirely too near the teeth. I suggested through the eyes. Huron thought a spear through the roof of the mouth would work.

  I was pleased he was thinking in terms of killing it efficiently. If he lived through it, he might decide to be an instructor for a few months, at least, and I could surreptitiously throw some healing spells at him to reduce the effects of aging.

  “Our plan has merit,” he finally decided. “I believe I know where and how to strike. If you are willing to be the bait, I will be the trap. I fear I must allow this, for it is a greater opponent than I anticipated.”

  “I have every confidence in you.” As I spoke, I was struck by a thought. Since Huron was headed for the jaws of a tyrannosaur anyway…

  “I have another proposition for you, if you’ll hear it.”

  “I would be rude if I did not allow you to speak.”

  “As I understand it, you have two main reasons for this battle. First, you don’t want to die of old age, feeling useless as a warrior. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Second, you hope to mark your soul for the afterlife in such a way as to assure you are reborn as a warrior, right?”

  “Also correct.”

  I licked my lips. I suspected I was about to prove myself a heretic. I haven’t met the gods of this world and I’ve been actively avoiding doing so. This might be treading on their turf.

  “I happen to know the wizards have a peculiar thing they do, somewhat similar to your second reason.”

  “I do not understand. They die in magic to be reborn as a wizard?”

  “Not exactly. When their time comes to die, they use their magic to send their souls into their best apprentice, or their most powerful friend, or something. They pass on their knowledge and skills to the next wizard and, in some way, live on in him as a… a guiding spirit, or something, to counsel and advise.”

  Huron looked startled. I think he was startled. I wouldn’t call it shocked, exactly, but maybe a bit of both, leaning more toward startled. He stared at me for a long time before he shook his head to clear it.

  “I presume you propose—no, let me not presume. What is it you offer?”

  “I think I can arrange to have you do the same thing with some younger warrior. I don’t know for certain, since it’s a wizard thing. Theoretically, you could begin a generational chain where the skill and experience of yourself and every warrior who follows you is passed down, again and again.”

  Huron looked thoughtful. With his spear over his shoulder, he drew in the dirt with the butt of it. I waited while he considered. At last, he shook his head.

  “I find the idea intriguing,” he admitted, “but to do so would be… irreligious, perhaps. Someday, the chain of warriors would end and I would have to face the gods. I doubt they would be generous enough to allow me to return as a warrior—nor any of the rest of the chain. To begin such a course would be to knowingly risk myself and others in open defiance of the order of things.”

  “Fair points. I had to let you know it was an option, though. I’d never have forgiven myself if you had wanted to try it and I never even told you.”

  “I understand your predicament. Thank you for telling me. I must, regretfully, decline.”

  “No problem. Ready to go?”

  “Give me a moment.”

  “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

  Huron nodded and closed his eyes, possibly in prayer, possibly to order his thoughts, possibly to consider his own inner vision of how the creature moved. I don’t know; I was busy. I prepared spells to put his body into overdrive, amping up all his physical attributes, causing his flesh to use all his vital energy instead of the fraction most people can consciously access. He would be stronger, faster, and able to ignore more pain than any normal human being—but only for a little while. Afterward… well, given the circumstances, the spell wouldn’t have time to kill him. Burning up his body like that, any other time, would require days of bed rest and some healing spells. At the moment, I couldn’t think of any downside.

  I left everything untriggered. This setup wouldn’t last long, so its employment would require some timing. Better to leave it as an emergency measure. Besides, Huron might actually stand a chance without it.

  We moved along the rim of the dell until we found the fallen tree I’d spotted on an earlier trip. It had toppled toward the rim, forming a natural, although somewhat inconvenient ramp for armored monkeys. Climbing down it was much easier than trying to climb the low cliff. We searched for a good ambush spot.

  We cut our search short as the thud of heavy footsteps alerted us to the approach of our prey. The location wasn’t ideal—too much open space—but we picked our spots and prepared. Huron took station behind the largest tree in sight, leaning his spear against the trunk and drawing his sword. He left his shield at the foot of the tree for the moment, taking his sword in a two-handed grip. I stayed loose, ready to head for whatever point would lure the beast past him.

  The tyrannosaur came into view. Its nostrils flared and the eyes focused on me. Keen vision, those dinos. Large eyes, good at spotting prey. I hurried maybe thirty feet to another sunny spot and flashed my pocket mirror at those keen eyes. It snorted indignantly and I kept the reflected sun in its left eye, the one on the side where Huron waited.

  It bellowed an irate challenge and leaped forward. It didn’t accelerate too quickly—even those bones couldn’t manage the forces needed for quick acceleration of such a mass—but it had a high top speed.

  Huron picked his moment, but the dinosaur wasn’t cooperating. We hoped to hamstring it, disable one leg at the outset. Huron wasn’t half bad as a monster-slayer. He rolled around the tree trunk as the beast’s head went by, saw he had a poor shot at the knee, and took what was offered—the tendon at the back of the ankle. He brought his sword down in a two-handed blow, hit, bit, and yanked, slashing deeper after the initial chop.

  The tyrannosaur screamed. It reminded me of concert feedback in the midrange and shook leaves off the trees. The lumbering charge turned into a small earthquake as the beast tripped and went down, sprawling grandly, kicking up damp leaves and plowing into the moist earth. It thrashed, kicking, tail lashing, as it bellowed angrily and fought to recover its footing. The tail slammed against Huron’s tree, fortunately. Had it hit him, he would have been slammed for yards, possibly killed outright.

  As it struggled upright, it roared in pain. It could support some weight on the wounded leg, but it clearly didn’t work properly. Standing wasn’t beyond it. Moving wasn’t beyond it. Running? Sharp turns? I began to wonder if Huron was going to survive this. What do you get the man who kills a tyrannosaur and asks for something harder?

  Huron, meanwhile, continued to use the tree for cover from the thrashing tail. He ca
lmly sheathed his sword, picked up shield and spear, and readied himself for when the beast rose again. Only then did he show himself and shout, attracting its attention. Now upright, it turned toward him. It couldn’t charge, but it limped forward, roaring, and Huron stuck it in the snout. I think he was going for an eye, but the irregular gait made the target unpredictable. The tyrannosaur snapped at him, but Huron hurried back, careful of his footing, as the beast limped forward again.

  It roared at him in frustration and pain, which may have been Huron’s intent all along. Huron thrust his spear into the mouth. The spear went in through the soft tissue in the roof of the mouth, but the angle was wrong for a brain shot. It pierced the mouth, up into the nasal area, and the tyrannosaur snapped at it, biting through the wooden spear-shaft with a splintering crunch.

  Huron fell back some more and drew his sword. The tyrannosaur paused for a moment to try and hack up the remains of the spear. It tossed its head from side to side and made a terrible hooting, hacking sound as it attempted to dislodge the spearhead. It finally bent its neck and turned its head sideways, bringing it close in to the chest. Those tiny arms were only tiny for a dinosaur of its size. They were larger and stronger than a man’s leg. With the head so close, it had no trouble reaching the remains of the spear-shaft and pulling it out. Blood dribbled from its mouth as it did so and I wondered how badly it was hurt.

  The roar that followed told me it wasn’t too badly hurt.

  Huron wasn’t intimidated. I say he wasn’t. Maybe he was. On the other hand, he intended to die fighting, so it was hard to tell. He shifted his shield on his arm so he could hold it out with one hand, rather than wear it. I didn’t see the point until the tyrannosaur lumbered forward and tried to bite him. With the round shield held up and out like that, the jaws closed on it, chomping down hard. At least one portion of the edge was sharp. It cut into the tyrannosaur’s mouth even as the metal crumpled and a freshet of blood poured between the lower teeth.

  While the shield injured the beast a bit more—especially with the force of the tyrannosaur’s own bite driving the lower edge through the tongue!—it was only a part of Huron’s plan. As the jaws closed, he let go of the shield and stepped forward, driving his sword up for the eye. He hit it, too, but the sudden pain of the shield-cut caused the tyrannosaur to whip its head up. The sword’s point entered the eye, further wounding and maddening the beast, but it entered at too steep an angle and, with the head already retreating, didn’t penetrate far. Fluid gushed from the eye, a mix of clear liquid and blood.

  Huron could probably have run for it, then. Given some time, the tyrannosaur looked likely to bleed to death. The ankle, the back of the throat, the eye, and especially the half-severed tongue… If this were judged on points, Huron was the clear victor. Sadly, Huron wasn’t in it for points. He was in this to kill the beast if he could, even—or especially—if it meant his own life.

  I found myself sorely tempted to nudge things in his favor. I mean, it has to do a lot for a man’s confidence in his own abilities as a warrior if he goes out to die, fights a multi-ton carnivore, and wins! I could always get him another monster next year. He might go for an instructor job with a yearly monster-slaying. I might be able to sell that. Hell, even if things didn’t work out here, I’d come back once a year just to deliver him another monster.

  What kept me from the temptation was the knowledge he wanted this. He still wanted it, as evidenced by his refusal to run. Worse, I respected his desire. I didn’t fully understand it—it’s not my culture, after all—but it seemed to matter a great deal to him. But I grasped the idea he had chosen the manner of his death, and in my heart I agreed he had the right to choose, even if I didn’t understand his reasons.

  Huron, dripping sword held in both hands, went down the beast’s blind side while it was busy rearing and screaming. He set himself and delivered a terrific, two-handed blow to the same leg he cut earlier. He hacked at the existing wound, chopping in and slicing deeper, severing something important as he cut in, right to the bone. The tyrannosaur started to topple even as it turned in his direction, jaws snapping and sending splashes of blood everywhere. Huron sprang back toward the tail as well as away from the falling dinosaur.

  It hit the ground with a deep thud, shaking more leaves free. Huron circled it as it thrashed, staying near the head and looking for an opening, choosing his moment. The beast was dying—slowly, perhaps, but it wouldn’t survive the day. This wasn’t good enough, of course. It was a duel to the death, and they were both still alive. It glared at Huron with its one good eye, recognizing him as a threat. It kicked the earth with its good leg, turning itself and flailing at him, trying to kick or claw or grab him with the talons on the remaining foot.

  Huron was too quick for it, of course. He stayed just out of reach of the bloody, champing jaws and kept pace as it turned itself, trying to reach him. He evaluated the head and neck, picking out where to hack, where to chop, where to stab.

  When the moment came, everything happened at once.

  The tyrannosaur, still kicking with its good leg, arched its neck as it pushed with its foot, rotating as it lay on the loam. Huron sprang forward, toward the exposed throat, sword high for a heavy downstroke. The tyrannosaur, through some trick of evolutionary reflexes, reversed the movement of its head and snapped at him, chomping sideways at him—and clamped down on him, teeth penetrating the scale armor over his abdomen and his legs.

  Huron’s blow at the neck was disrupted, resulting in nothing more than a minor cut. Since his hands were high at the time, his arms were free of the jaws, but he gasped as all the air was driven out of him by the force of the bite. Bones broke inside him. I could hear them from where I stood. I drew Firebrand.

  Now? Firebrand asked.

  No. He’s still alive.

  You call that alive?

  Show some respect. He’s dying in the manner he deems right.

  The tyrannosaur, badly wounded and dying, clamped down. Huron, already mostly broken and dying, hardly noticed. I suspect his spine was severed in the bite, so everything below a certain point was simply numb. Still, he was due to go into shock in seconds, but he didn’t disappoint me. In the moment of functional awareness remaining to him, he used the tyrannosaur’s bite against it. If it opened its mouth, Huron would have simply fallen to the ground. Instead, the dinosaur held him firmly in place, giving Huron the leverage he needed. Huron raised the blade in one hand, placed the palm of his other hand on the flat to help guide it accurately, and thrust for the one glaring, baleful eye.

  His aim was true. There was no dodging, no sudden twitching, no unexpected flailing. There was a clean, straight thrust into the eye and beyond it, burying more than half the length of his blade in the tyrannosaur’s skull. The beast gave a massive shudder, like a ripple in flesh, and simply quit moving. The jaws relaxed, but Huron remained where he was, nailed in place by teeth the size of bananas.

  I hurried over to him. He raised his head to smile weakly at me.

  “You found… a great beast,” he gasped, bloody froth on his lips. “I am honored.”

  “I witnessed you slay a great beast,” I replied. “The honor is mine.”

  “I die now… Al of… Lucard. With… with thanks.”

  I wanted to say something, something profound and deep and fitting for a man dying. But what? Ashes to ashes? Something about the rivers run to the sea, yet the sea is not full? Home is the sailor? What? What do I say?

  Wait! I remember something. “For the Fallen,” by Laurence Binyon. I don’t know the whole thing, but one bit of it always stuck with me.

  “They shall grow not old,” I told him, “as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.”

  Huron seemed to appreciate it. He smiled for an instant as bright blood came from his mouth. He nodded, or simply slumped. I didn’t move him while he died, not wishing to cause him any extra pa
in. When he finished, I carefully pulled him free of the teeth and worked him out from between the jaws, laid him down on the bloody ground. It’s weird for me to watch someone die and not be… I don’t know. More involved with it, I guess. Or less involved. Or something.

  You should have brought a shovel, Firebrand observed.

  My reply was profane. Firebrand was right.

  Faced with the options of digging with my hands or fetching a shovel, I fetched a shovel. It takes a lot of work to dig a grave—I mean a real grave, not merely a hole sufficient for covering someone over. Lucky for me, I have a personal air-conditioning spell. Unluckily for me, we were still fairly near the edge of the dell, where the dirt was shallowest. I didn’t quite make it six feet deep before hitting bedrock.

  Still, it would do. It might even do better than I first thought. As I dug, I puzzled over what sort of marker to put on his grave. Hitting underground stone solved the problem for me. I laid out Huron on the stone at the bottom of the hole, complete with the remains of his shield and spear, with his sword pointing toward his toes and the hilt under his folded hands. I cast my stone shaping spell on the bedrock, giving it detailed instructions. I filled in the hole and watched for a bit to make sure all went as planned.

  In a week or two, there would be a slab of stone aboveground, about seven feet by three, and perhaps a foot above ground level. Inside it, Huron’s body would stay entombed until someone came and busted him out. They might not, however, because the lettering grown into the top: “Within lies the body of Huron Dragonslayer.”

  Maybe people will show some respect and leave it alone. You never know.

  By then, the sun was going down. I probably had time to make it back to the tower, but I also wanted the tyrannosaur head… or, at minimum, the skull. Grumbling, I cut the head free and checked it for heft. It was heavier than I thought.

  Well, fine. I started stripping it, cutting away the flesh. The tongue alone must have been fifty pounds. I wasn’t done when the sunset forced me to sit in the shadows of the trees and close my visor.