“I’m aware of that, I mean his essence, he’s not gone, I can feel the connection to him still, and I need that to finish my transformation.”
The soldier shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about such things sir, I’m not a priest,”
“Pity,” Offa said. “You’re going to need one” Before he could get one word out, Offa swung the tail between his legs and into the soldier's groin, the barbed hook on the end opening him up as if he’d been zippered. Internal organs and blood spilled out onto the floor as the body hit the ground looking like a banana peel.
Off bent down pulled at a kidney and took a bite. Several more soldiers let their last meal loose on the floor.
Offa strode over to his throne and attempted to sit down, but was unable because of his tail. No matter which way he moved, it still got in the way. Frustrated, Offa stood, turned and a punch a hole through the back of the throne big enough to slip his tail through. As he was doing so, several of the guards picked up their weapons and began rushing at Offa, swords, daggers, and flails at the ready. As he turned around to sit back down, the first of the guards reached him, lunging forward with a dagger aimed straight to his throat.
Offa’s hand shot out, grabbed the man by the forearm, and yanked. The guard screamed as half his arm was hanging by some skin. While the pain was extraordinary, it didn’t last long, as Offa used his other hand to rip a hole in the man’s chest and removed his heart. Blood gave off steam on the still beating organ, as Offa devoured the entire thing in two bites.
The other guards who had drawn their weapons watched and weighed the odds of success. Offa waved them up. “Come you little prick lickers. Come taste the last thing that was in your sister’s bunghole!” The guards, as one, drove down the rest of the chamber, yelling, swords held high, blood racing, hearts pounding, lungs burning. Offa stood, swung around and hit them all with a swipe of his tail. They all fell to the ground, legs, and feet a bloody mess.
Grabbing one of the swords, Offa gripped it tight, looking at the mound of devastated flesh still in the front of him. He picked one out, swung the sword down and cut the top of one guard’s head off. Then another swing and the remainder of the head came free. Offa picked it up sticking a finger in each eye and one in the mouth, brought the opened skull to his maw and buried his face in the brains. He fed on it as a pig at a trough would, throwing it away only when he was done and had licked the insides clean.
“Who’s next?” Offa asked and smiled. As he scanned the room looking for another victim, his body began to quiver, his stomach was ravenous as if it hadn’t had a meal in weeks. He looked around frantically, not sure what was happening or what to do. He looked at still living soldiers at his feet and began eating one alive. As he devoured the man, his body began to grow and expand, becoming bigger and more powerful with every bite.
Offa felt like a God.
29: Reunion
Jeremiah’s first inclination was to duck, in spite of the shield covering them. The arrows bounced off like raindrops, with little Plink-plink! sounds.
“Ride!” Saerus yelled still using Kharisi’s body and voice. Jeremiah gave his horse a gentle kick on the sides and went bounding off, barely able to keep his grip on the reins. There was another volley of arrows, from behind this time, most bounced off though some were able to penetrate the weakening shield.
Kharisi was still ahead of him and Jeremiah kicked his horse once more, driving it forward, faster. “Shield’s weakening!” he yelled over the fevered pitch of the galloping hooves.
“Then ride faster!” Saerus yelled back, pulling ahead of the boy once more.
“Come on you slow-ass bitch, move it!” he yelled at his horse, which gave it a bit more of a boost.
They rode that way for close to a quarter of an hour before Kharisi slowed his horse down to a trot. Jeremiah followed suit, and they rode next to one another.
“Who was that?” Jeremiah asked.
Kharisi had now in control of his body once more, even though Saerus answered. “My guess is Wilderen, though I’ve never known them to be that aggressive. They’re usually content enough to leave others alone. It’s only when they feel threatened that they attack.”
“We didn’t do anything!”
“I know, but something has them on edge, and we best not let our guard down. I don’t think I can raise another barrier, doing that sapped Kharisi physically, and me mentally, or whatever passes for that right now.”
“Then what do we do?”
“Run,” Kharisi said wearily. Jeremiah looked over and saw that Kharisi did indeed looked worn out. The dark circles under his eyes–matched the void like blackness in them. For the first time, Kharisi actually looked old. And that scared Jeremiah for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom. “Anyway, we’ve put quite a bit of distance between us and them, so I don’t think they’ll be an immediate threat. We’re almost there besides, so we’ll be okay.” He tried to sound confident and reassuring and judging by Jeremiah’s still worried expression he was doing a bad job.
“How much further?”
Kharisi sighed. “Maybe another half an hour, perhaps less.” In truth, he wasn’t sure how much longer it would be, for all he knew they could well be another four hours away.
Saerus looked through Kharisi’s eyes, surveying the area, looking for familiar landmarks, and his eyes landed on a huge stone just off the side of the road. “See that stone to your left?”
“Yup, kind of hard to miss.”
“The entrance to the cave is just past that, we’re right there!”
Kharisi gave a sigh of relief. All the exertion was catching up to him, and his ass was making the most complaints.
As they passed the stone, they saw the well-worn path and started down it, excitement filling their beings. That ended abruptly when they saw dozens of Wilderen blocking their entrance to the cave. They hadn’t been seen yet but heard something because their attention was diverted from the cave to the pathway.
“Now what?” Kharisi asked Saerus.
“I don’t know, but this isn’t the same group that ambushed us earlier, or else they wouldn’t be out in the open.”
“There’s too many to take on directly, and if the other group was following us, tracking us, we’re in shit up to our eyebrows.”
Saerus thought for a moment. “I could fireball them. That would take out enough and hopefully, you can take out the rest.”
Kharisi turned to Jeremiah who was visibly shaken by the sight of so many Wilderen. “Do you have a weapon?”
“A dagger sir. Not as sharp as usual, but I didn’t have time to wheel the blade.”
“Be prepared.”
“I think I shit myself again,” Jeremiah said, embarrassed at his fear.
“Fuck’s sake, pull yourself together, I need you or we all die.”
Kharisi turned back to look at the Wilderen, some of whom were still looking in their direction, though none had decided to investigate. Kharisi got down from his horse, as careful and as silent as possible. He motioned for Jeremiah to do the same, and the boy stood behind him, dagger at the ready, even if the hand that held it was shaky. He’d heard of Wilderen of course but thought they were nothing but fairy tales.
Now, seeing them up close and personal, they were far scarier than any of the stories he’d been told. Even as small as they were, a mere foot and a half, their muscles were visible, taught, and lethal. Some held spears tipped with poisons, others had bows and arrows, quivers stuffed with plenty of ammo. Perhaps the most unsettling aspect were the masks they wore, almost as long as their bodies, each had a face carved into it, all to instill panic in their enemies. They were painted with blood and other colors from the herbs and trees that were available. Their hair was long and clumped together with what smelled like animal droppings. They were chanting, but so low, it could have been mistaken for a distant swarm of bees. Taken together, all these defenses, more than made up for their stature. They were things, Jeremiah was certain, that should he live, he’d h
ave eternal nightmares over.
He looked to Kharisi in time to see his eyes roll to the back of his head, showing only the whites. When they came back again, they were no longer his but Saerus’.
“Stay behind, we’re going to burn their asses off,” Saerus said in a whisper, Jeremiah nodded and moved back, sweat leaking from every pore, his bowels and bladder ready to evacuate again at a moment’s notice.
Kharisi raised his hands, watched the pattern they were making in the air, saw smoke starting to drift from his fingertips, and then glowing red as hot coals. A ball began to form between his hands and it grew larger and larger. When it reached the size of a melon, he let it fly. It arced beautifully, and the Wilderen had no idea what was coming until it landed in the middle of the group.
The impact and explosion were blinding. Bodies flew in every direction, some with limbs intact, some not. Blood spray was minimal as the heat from the fireball cauterized the wounds. Panic set in among the group as they looked for the source of the mayhem.
Without wasting a moment Kharisi and Jeremiah charged into the frenzy and began stabbing and slicing any Wilderen they could. Kharisi whistled for the horses and they came galloping in, crushing some under their hooves, adding an even greater layer of confusion. The smell of burned flesh grew pungent, but the screams were dying down as fewer and fewer of the Wilderen remained alive. At last, those who had managed to remain unscathed, no more than half a dozen or so, ran into the woods fleeing for their lives.
Kharisi surveyed the area, with all the small doll-like bodies strewn across the ground like a miniature battlefield. “That went far better than it had any right to,” he said, wiping the blood off his blade on the back of his pants. Jeremiah, looking a little green, turned away and without warning, vomited with such violence, Kharisi thought he might choke on his own bile. He went over to the boy and put an arm around his shoulder and gave him an awkward side hug in an effort to comfort him.
“Kharisi you pointy-eared cock-knocker, am I glad to see you!” Petram yelled, running from the mouth of the cave. Kharisi sheathed his sword and held out both hands to grasp Petram’s. In spite of being a dwarf, his hands were huge, causing Kharisi’s to disappear in his grip.
“Petram, you short pricked, drunk, seems I saved your backside once more,” he said laughing.
Petram exploded with laughter. “Let’s get in the cave, no telling if they’ll come back or not.”
“Agreed. Jeremiah, would you take the horses in?”
He nodded and grabbed the bridles of both and led them at the rear of the procession. Once inside, the smell of stew hit his nostrils, and he was ravenous in an instant. Todrick was stirring something in a kettle, his back to everyone else. Da’Nel was standing in the shadows, farther back, watching, and appraising.
“What of Saerus? Is he safe?”
“I am,” Saerus answered using his own voice through Kharisi once again. Petram stepped back, eyes wide. “Bu the Queen's tits, how d'you do that?” he asked Kharisi.
Kharisi let out a long breath. “He’s in my head, his twin somehow forced Saerus from his own body to take it over.”
Da’Nel stepped from the shadows then and spoke. “That is very powerful magic, to be able to do that. Even more to control a stranger’s body.”
Todrick turned away from his pot, deciding to join in the conversation. “Powerful yes, but not invincible.”
“And you are?” Kharisi said, looking at Da’Nel.
“My apologies, I’m Da’Nel, last of the Earthen Elves.”
“Da’Nel? the druid?”
Da’Nel gave a slight smile and a humble nod. Kharisi’s expression was one of confusion and he looked to Petram for some sort of answer.
“We found him and the book. Well, a book anyway.” Petram’s face was masked with hidden sorrow, a deep pain over something he was hiding. Kharisi didn’t want to push it and was willing to let Petram talk about it in his own time.
“I know this may seem strange Da’Nel, but I have a message from Toryan, he said he’s still waiting.”
Da’Nel’s face went white, as his mouth dropped open in shock. He took a step back and staggered as if he’d been hit by a strong punch. “The dragon?” he whispered.
Kharisi nodded.
Petram and Todrick both looked surprised. “Where did you find a dragon?” Petram asked, his mouth puffing like a fish out of water.
“Below where that hag we killed was.”
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. Todrick seemed more than skeptical and had that look Kharisi had seen countless times before when he was about to be rebuked for something. “Impossible!” the wizard said, “Dragons have been long gone from here.”
“Todrick,” Saerus said, “do you think I’d let Kharisi lie about something of this much importance?”
He thought about that and then answered with a simple, “No, I suppose not.”
“Anyway, that is the least of our problems at the moment, now that we’re all here, what are we supposed to do?” Kharisi asked. “The imposter has gone mad. He imprisoned me, was getting ready to chop my head off, and he... he tortured Jeremiah for his own amusement.”
Everyone had forgotten about the boy which was fine with him as he felt out of place with all these men of power and strength. He’d been content to sit by the fire warming his hands and smelling the stew’s aroma. The three looked at him as if they were waiting for an answer.
“What?” Jeremiah asked. “That fart barely had an odor.”
“You need to tell us about him, what he said, what he did, what his plans are?”
“What his plans are? He was torturing me, not confiding in me.”
Da’Nel moved closer to Jeremiah. He had his book open to a blank page, his finger already dripping with blood. “Tell me all, tell me truly and tell me now.”
Jeremiah was struck by the earthen elf’s eyes. They were the color of mahogany, then turned green as the fields they walked through, and still other colors that were impossible to describe, as Jeremiah’s vocabulary was limited. He moved his head closer to Da’Nel’s getting a better look and felt that he could fall into those bottomless ever-changing eyes, and after a few moments, that’s exactly what he did.
30: Jaxon and the Wilderens
Jaxon didn’t dare look back until he was well past the range of being able to see the castle. He’d taken one of the horses from the stable, quickly threw the blanket and saddle on it and rode like the wind before the King sent someone after him. Jaxon wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be pursued, regardless. As the land went by in a blur, Jaxon was no more interested in capturing Kharisi than he was bedding him. All he wanted to do, the only thing in his mind was to get away and stay away.
He realized the King’s erratic behavior was more than stress, it was like he was a different person, some insane or deranged being inhabiting his body. Jaxon was not a superstitious man, nor was he much of a believer in the paranormal, but he wouldn’t scoff and ignore things he saw with his own eyes, and what he saw in Saerus’ was all he needed to run from it.
Jaxon brought his horse down to a trot from a full gallop when froth from the stallion’s mouth began hitting him in the face. He knew these woods like the back of his hand, having played in and explored them as a child. Drifting off the main road, he ambled towards a stream he knew to be close by. His horse slowed down a bit more, and Jaxon had to goad him on to move past his exhaustion. He hated to do that but knew it was only a matter of moments before they reached the stream.
When the sound of the flowing water could be heard, his mount picked its pace up, not having to be told where to go. Its thirst led the way better than any map or compass. Jaxon got off his horse, gave it a few quick pats of appreciation, and left it to drink its fill and rest. He rummaged through the makeshift rucksack he’d taken with him and pulled out some fruit and a skin of water.
Sitting on the stump, eating his snack, Jaxon couldn’t help but wonder what forces brought him to that spot.
He felt like how a pawn in a game of chess would feel, being moved about thinking it was his own free will, even though an invisible hand forced him down a path. He traced everything back to his childhood and worked his way forward, creating a timeline in his mind. His youth spent in the woods playing with his friends, forgetting his hunger pangs and poverty he would go back to before the sun left the sky. Jaxon next marked his adolescence and the first spilling of his seed, and the thrashing his mother had given him when she saw the dried stains on his undergarments.
He remembered soon after that his father bringing him to a ramshackle hut hidden in the overgrown weeds behind the pigs. It’s where he met a one-legged whore his father fucked several times a month. Jaxon was forced to watch as his father mounted the whore, telling him to pay attention. The sight of his father’s too white, pimpled buttocks thrusting up and down, proved to be the death of any arousal he’d feel that night.
Jaxon still had the scars and broken bones from the beating he’d received for his mpotence. His father’s embarrassment as the whore laughed at him for not being able to perform proved too much. He’d taken to her with a heavy branch and beat her head in, then took his fists to his son.
Much after that was a blur, but he remembered the day he became a castle guard, it was the single happiest day of his life, made even sweeter by his being able to arrest his father for the whore’s murder. The sight of him chained in a cell, rats darting about his feet was one he’d remember fondly for the rest of his life.
Jaxon was brought out of the memory by his horse nudging his arm. He looked over at the animal and smiled. “I’ve got something for you,” he said the way a mother would talk to an infant. He reached into his bag, pulled out another apple and held it out for the horse to take. Content to watch the horse chew for a moment, the glare from something shiny caught his eye, from over the left side of his mount.
He walked over to where he thought it came from and kneeled down. What he saw was the tip of an arrow and an arrowhead that looked to be made of glass or crystal. The sharpest point was dark with what Jaxon thought to be poison. The shaft was broken off and some loose feathers were crushed in the dust. As he looked around more, he saw more fragments of arrows, and tracks he’d not seen earlier. Jaxon went back to his horse, removed the sword he had tied to the side and set it in the scabbard attached to his belt.
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