Offa screamed as he was inundated with the poisoned arrows of the Wilderen. They had crept in as silent as a cheese fart and attacked without mercy. Jaxon was the first to be dropped, his limp body falling to the hard floor like a rag doll. Blood seeped from his mouth and ears, as his breathing became labored. Todrick was flung away and surely would have perished had the Elder Wilderen not interceded and stopped the mage in mid-air to lower him as if he were a feather.
The arrows continued to fly, taking out the eyes on the body, including those that were blind. Offa’s screams were agony, and Saerus could feel his twin dying. He felt a part of himself dying as well, and if he did so, he was okay with that.
“Don’t you die with him,” Kharisi said through gritted teeth, still flailing around with his sword. Another arrow landed in the hand that held him, how the shot was made Kharisi would never know, but it allowed him to fall, and as he hit the ground, he felt the wind rush out of him all at once. He turned over onto his stomach and tried getting to all fours. A not unpleasant jolt of electricity then passed through him, giving him breath and strength. He looked up and saw the Elder, and Kharisi could have sworn he saw the Wilderen smile.
The others were freed right on the heels of that and none of them, aside from Jeremiah, wasted time in attacking Offa. Kharisi plunged his sword into what he presumed what the stomach and pulled down on it as hard as he could, allowing blood, rotting intestines, and undigested body parts spew out. He yanked out his weapon and began to climb the deflating body.
As the fight left, his hold on the dead bodies he’d resurrected ceased, and around Tulan they fell where they stood, never to get up again.
Kharisi slid on the blood, and Petram, who was right above him, held out a hand to pull him up, as each went to either side of the neck.
“Ready?” Petram yelled.
“Ready!” Kharisi called back, and on the count of three, they chopped at the neck, cutting through the flesh with ease, and then hacking at the spine, until the head rolled down the shrinking, body, and across the floor where it stopped just short of the doors.
It was over. Offa was finally dead.
39: Promises Kept, Promises Broken
Kharisi pulled Todrick over to Jeremiah’s prone body, and they both kneeled down beside him. Todrick checked what vital signs he could and then gave a small, sad, shake of his head.
“This is beyond my ken,” he said. He reached a hand out for help, and Petram pulled him up. Todrick looked at the dwarf, then jumped back in surprise. “You’re dead!”
“About that...” Petram said with a sheepish look on his stubbled face.
“Yes, what about that?” Kharisi said, his tone one of righteous indignation.
“Da’Nel was planning on doing something but didn’t want anyone to know, so he sent me to Toryan’s cave.”
“What for? A snack?” Kiandra asked, standing by his side, and taking his hand, hoping no one would notice.
“He never told me, that’s the thing,” Petram said, ignoring her joke. “He said he would meet me there, and that’s all.”
“And what happened when he showed up?” Jaxon asked.
“He didn’t. I was out looking for him when I saw the fighting and then saw old pointy ears here getting his arse kicked. I thought I better help him or we’d all get a good fucking.”
“I was not getting my ass kicked!” Kharisi said with a severe lack of confidence. “I was...” he choked on his words as his eyes opened wide and stared at Offa’s corpse. Not only was it shrinking, but it also seemed to be forming into something. The others looked when they saw Kharisi’s stare and there was a collective gasp. It took several moments but when the transformation was done, Saerus’ dead body lay there, dual penises and all.
Kharisi turned to the Wilderen elder who was standing with his clan, watching and waiting. “I’ve no right to ask more of you, than what you’ve done,” Saerus said. “However with Da’Nel not here, I know of no one else to ask. Can you join me to my body? Can you make me whole?” The elder walked over to Saerus’ body, bent over and examined it from head to toe. There was no sound but the occasional murmur and clicking of his tongue. When the Elder finished, he made his way to Kharisi and bade him kneel, so he could look him in the eye.
“The question is not can I do this thing you asked but will I do this thing you asked.”
Everyone held their breath waiting for the Elder’s answer, and only when he felt he’d waited long enough, he gave them his answer. “No, I will not. You have not kept your part of our agreement.”
“Elder,” Saerus said, trying to conceal his panic, “I have every intention of keeping my word, but we need to find him, I need my body to do so, to lead my people.”
The Elder continued to hold his gaze. “You’ve done this much without it, you can do more.”
“Enough of this talk, let’s just kill this little bastard,” Petram said, drawing his weapon.
“No. Put your ax away Petram, we’ve had enough violence,” Saerus ordered and then turned back to the Elder. “As you wish, Elder. We will find Da’Nel and bring him to you.”
“We will wait here. And if he is not brought to us by the sun’s next rising, you will all die, and this kingdom shall be no more.”
Without noticing, the rest of the Wilderen had circled Kharisi and his group as well as the other remaining survivors, with their poisonous spears, pointed at them.
“That won’t be necessary,” a voice called out from the entranceway, “I am here. But I will not be traded away or taken against my will. Not by the likes of you,” Da’Nel said, pointing at Kharisi, “and especially not you!” He then pointed at the Elder, the hatred on his face, unmistakable.
The Elder glanced at Da’Nel, looked around the room at his clan, and looked to Kharisi. “Then you will all die.”
“We could have wiped you from existence when we had the chance, but we didn’t. Even when Toryan came back to do so, I prevented her from slaughtering all of your ancestors. You only have life, because I allowed you to have it. And now, you wish to avenge a wrong from thousands of years ago?”
“And I thought you could hold a grudge,” Petram whispered to Kiandra who gave him a not so gentle poke in the ribs with her elbow.
“If anything,” Da’Nel continued, “You should be exacting your revenge on Toryan, not myself.”
“Those are lies,” a frail woman’s voice bounced off the stone walls and reverberated for all to hear. “And you know so, Da’Nel. I no more went back to kill them, than you’re actually a dragonkin with honor. It was you who went back duplicating my form, and it was your projection of yourself, who swooped in to stop the destruction.”
Kharisi and Petram looked at the hag, and then at one another. Each wanted to say something, and sensing this, she glanced at them, and their mouths seemed to freeze shut.
Da’Nel laughed, “Such power I must have to be able to do that.” The Elder noted that it wasn’t a denial, but almost a boast.
“Yes, you wished only to chase them away, not eradicate them. Wilderen is nothing to you, or to me. They are to us what ants are to men.”
This reddened the Elder’s cheeks and was the final indignity. “Enough!” he yelled slamming his staff on the ground. The tremor it caused had the unfortunate effect of knocking his clan down, and even as they hurried to get up, Da’Nel transformed into his true dragonkin form, flew through the broken entranceway, and vanished into the oncoming night.
“He always was a coward.” The hag said under her breath. Her crippled gait slowed her down, but she still made her way to face the Elder, this time someone stared into his eyes.
“You know what I say to be true. Leave them be.”
“We had an agreement,” the Elder said, unflinching and unmoved.
“We did have an agreement,” Kharisi said, arms folded across his chest. “Da’Nel was here, and you did nothing to capture him. That is not our fault. In fact, had you not bashed your stick about, he wouldn�
��t have gotten away.”
The Elder closed his eyes in contemplation for a moment as tiny veins throbbed on the side of his head. “You are right. We will go, as our hunt continues. Know this, the slightest aggression will bring forth our spears and arrows, and no mercy will be shown.”
“I’m quaking in my boots,” Kharisi snapped, unable to help himself. The Elder turned to the doorway, pointed at it with his stick and in an instant he and his clan were gone.
“How do they do that?” Todrick whispered to himself.
Kharisi and Petram joined the hag who was still looking out the entrance into the sky.
“We cut your head off,” Petram said.
She laughed through her toothless mouth and smiled. “Do you think Da’Nel is the only one who can do tricks? Projections don’t die that easily.”
They both shrugged, and Petram went back to Kiandra who was hovering over Jeremiah.
“Can you make me whole?” Saerus asked, trying not to hold out hope.
“Tis not a problem, but for one thing. Nature needs balance, death can only be undone by another death.”
“His eyes are open!” Kiandra shouted. Kharisi rushed over and kneeled beside Jeremiah, taking his cold, limp hand in his own.
Jeremiah tried to speak and coughed up a great gob of blood, which Kiandra wiped away. “You’re going to be fine,” Kharisi said.
Jeremiah cracked a small smile and gave the slightest of head shakes. “My life is yours, my King. It always was.” Jeremiah closed his eyes again, as bubbles of blood popped up on his lips.
“We need to hurry if we are to do this,” the hag said. “Bring the other closer and lay it next to the lad.” Petram was up and carrying Saerus’ body in an instant and laid it with great care next to Jeremiah. “You,” she said to Kharisi, “Bring me the necklace that you stole from me and hurry.”
“But I didn’t...” Kharisi sputtered, and the hag slapped him across the face with a power that defied her frailty.
“Enough, get it. Now.” As she enunciated the last word, Kharisi looked into her eyes and saw Toryan’s staring back at him. Almost against his own volition, he ran from the throne room, climbing over debris blocking his way and ran to the King’s chambers as fast as he was able. For a moment panic and terror stripped him of his memory, and it was Saerus who had to remind him of the hiding place in the headboard. His fingers twitched with nervousness but he was able to open the small drawer and grab the plain piece of jewelry.
Kharisi ran double-time down the stairwell and back into the throne room, another fresh layer of sweat coating his face.
“Lay between the two,” she told Kharisi
Kharisi did what he was told, and the hag placed the necklace on Saerus’ cool corpse and began muttering incantations and creating runes over them all. A thin wisp of the purest blue smoke came from Jeremiah’s mouth and the hag guided it into Saerus, as a thicker rope of pure gold came from Kharisi’s. As the blue and gold threads joined together they too were guided into Saerus’ mouth. The body spasmed, and his eyes shot open. Saerus went rigid as the necklace glowed with a soothing light before dissolving into his neck. As the spasmed ceased, his two members engorged themselves with blood.
“Men, yer all alike,” Kiandra said averting her eyes from Saerus. Kharisi passed out, his head falling onto Saerus’ chest, who instinctively raised a hand to pat him on the scalp.
“Is it you?” the crone asked.
Saerus, wiping a tear from his eye and said, “Yes, it is. I’m back.”
Epilogue
Saerus woke up in a cold sweat and sat on the edge of his bed. Kharisi stirred, turned over on his side, farted and went back to sleep. While his nightmares had lessened in the months after he’d regained his body, they still came and were still as intense. Much as he tried to remember them however, he couldn’t and wondered if that wasn’t really for the best. He stood and went to the window, opening up the shutters to look out at Tulan. The casualties from the fighting had been massive and left the town almost empty.
Those left began rebuilding and before long they were joined by others from neighboring countries who moved to Tulan and happily pitched in. Even the dwarves came to help and rebuild the damage that had been done to the castle. Saerus himself pitched in, helping to rebuild, and in all cases, made better the homes of those who escaped death but no longer had anywhere to go. Kharisi, Kiandra, Jaxon, Todrick, and Petram were in town every day doing what they could, though Kharisi spent most of it at the Dancing Rooster.
Saerus sat at the small desk by the window and jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Calm yourself, it’s only me,” Kharisi said, kissing the top of Saerus’ head. He moved the other chair closer to Saerus’ and held his hand.
“Another bad dream?”
Saerus nodded. “And no, I still don’t remember what they’re about before you ask. I wonder if the crone could help,” he said muttering to himself.
“Come back to bed, I’ve got something that will help,” Kharisi said, kissing the side of Saerus’ neck and nibbling at his ear. Saerus giggled and pushed him away.
“Stop that!”
“I can’t help it, the idea of fucking the King makes me so horny!” Kharisi whined.
Saerus tried not to laugh but couldn’t help himself. He did, however, go back to bed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “Do you think having a double wedding was a good idea?”
“Why not?” Kharisi asked, pouring himself a glass of water. “You don’t think Petram will leave Kiandra at the altar again do you?” He took a sip, grimaced and threw the rest out the window. He lept onto the bed, and grabbed Saerus by the waist, pulling him close.”You’re not going to leave me at the altar?”
“Of course not, who else would have you anyway?” Kharisi slapped Saerus’ ass and then began tickling him. Saerus laughed loud enough that Kharisi covered his mouth and shushed him.
“I’m glad you asked Jaxon to be your witness, not to mention Head of the Guard.”
“With all, we’ve been through, what else could I do?”
“True,” Kharisi agreed.
“We could have made it a threesome and gotten Todrick and the hag to marry. They do seem fond of one another,” he said to Saerus, who turned on his side to face his soon to be husband.
“Do me a favor and never mention those two and threesome in the same sentence again. Ever.”
Kharisi laughed and held Saerus close to him. “I love you, Saerus.”
“I love you too, Kharisi.”
As they kissed and rolled onto one another, high above the castle, a dragon roared and spit fire into the night sky.
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Barbed Wire Kisses
Detritus
A Journey Through Perversion: The Films of John Waters
Celluloid Flesh: The Films of David Cronenberg
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Tilting at Windmills: The Films of Terry Gilliam
Life in Amber
Errors of the Flesh
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About the Author
Scott Colbert is a horror writer living in the Sonoran desert amidst the scorpions and rattlesnakes. He is also the creator and cohost of the long running podcast Imaginarium with Scott and Todd.
Read more at Scott E. Colbert’s site.
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