King of the Bastards (19 page)

“Who?”

“Croatoan…Meeble…the fulfillment of my bargain. He will destroy and rip apart this realm.”

“But if you are from the future, won’t he stop history and change
it all?”  

“There are other worlds than these, different stripes and
flavors, you cur. Perhaps in another time line, you and Javan are not from
Albion, but men from Transalpina or long lived mercs from Shynar? Maybe in
another time Karac is your son, but you love each other? Who can say?”

He had one chance as Amazarak moved forward. Rogan threw himself
against one of the glass tubes. A female body sloshed about and the tube went
over. It bounced on the floor and rolled. When Rogan slashed his sword down,
the heavy blade made a crack in the clear material. The blade bounced up and
came near to striking Rogan’s chest. Suddenly, the tube shattered on the floor,
spilling a yellowy fluid all over. This action made Amazarak stop in his
motions. Rogan then went mad, toppling more and more of the tubes, staying
ahead of the steel beast and the pinchers it waved at him.

He shoved a container with some thing that looked like a human
full of budding plant fibers at Amazarak. The shaman inadvertently embraced the
tube with his pinchers, crushing the clear walls and bursting the fluid all
over its steel self.

“Worm.” Amazarak raged and jerked in his movements. “You are a
rat in my maze and there is no escape.”

Rogan charged Amazarak as he tried to shrug off the container
pieces. He slid forward on the slick fluid, looking for a gap in the armor to
insert his blade. The metal right hand swatted Rogan and he flew back. Though
he rolled with the swipe, he thought his jaw dislocated. Truly, strains of his
long hair hung up in the blade tips on the gauntlet.

Flailing on the table of lights, Rogan struggled to hold the jar
and the handle of his weapon. Suddenly, his mind flared, the fingers of Akibeel
pushing him. Looking at a gleaming red button, Rogan put his hip on the table,
thus distancing himself from the floor, and slapped the button.

The floor sizzled as the force Amazarak once employed on Rogan
swept the room again. The fluid bubbled and smoked on the floor. The shaman
twisted, his armor jerked and sparks flew from the back of it.

Not defeated, Amazarak took wide strides toward the table. The
hinges snapped forward as the pinchers came full on. However, he then used them
as a bludgeon and swung down at Rogan.

With no worry for his safety on the hot floor, Rogan leapt out of
the way. His boots indeed felt the stabbing of icy daggers from the floor, but
it was short lived. The metal claw smashed at the boxy table, destroying the
controls and inadvertently stopping the bizarre effect.

Again, Rogan attacked. Just before he stabbed upwards with the
sword, he felt the power of Akibeel guide his arm and say, “No, this way,” and
direct the blade away from the groin of the suit and into the backpack of the
armor. Fire and sparks burst out of the armor, but Amazarak swung a claw toward
him. Rogan dropped before the blow fell and rolled away from Amazarak. The
armor stumbled and Rogan arose, throwing a shoulder into his enemy, barely
making Amazarak stagger a little inside his armor. The shaman took a few steps
and jerked in his motions, knocking over another one of the tubes. This
container fell and shattered, further saturating the floor with amber fluid.

Abruptly, Amazarak was afire from the backpack and more sparks
flew. Rogan stabbed at the back part of the armor again and Amazarak fell. The
armor split from the front and the man inside popped out.  

“Fool! This mountain is full of my power and that of the coming
Meeble! Disturb it in the slightest, you savage, and we will all explode! The
leak in radia…”

Rogan’s howling rage cut the man off and Akibeel hummed a song in
the barbarian’s head. Rogan raged, saying, “The secrets of metals and of life
come from Wodan, not Amazarak! This is but a demon pretending to be a god!”

Rogan dropped his blade and set down the jar. The shaman snatched
up the jar and that made Rogan swear anew. He reached out and caught the shaman
at last. He snapped Amazarak’s wrist and then took the soul jar up again. Rogan
held the jar as if it were a delicate newborn.

His heart was heavy as the words came to his mind from Akibeel,
“Your grandson is dead, Rogan. His soul has no flesh to return to.”

Wincing in agony at his new injury, Amazarak went to one knee.
“It is too late, savage!”

Rogan twisted the broken wrist back further and a noise not
unlike reeds breaking echoed briefly. “That is not important, wizard. Dying is
all that really matters.” He held up the jar. “His death, and now yours…”

Yanking his mangled wrist from Rogan, Amazarak scrambled away,
moving like a spider toward the back corner of the room. The creature was up on
its spindly legs, sucking for air, coughing.

“This is your day to die, damn you!” Rogan promised as he stood
tall.

Amazarak pulled a handgrip down a notch and hissed in the mind of
Rogan, “Someday I may have to die, but not at the hands of one such as you.” He
slipped into the closet and a clear door sealed him in tight. “Besides, you are
going to die in a minute, fool. Look, Croatoan comes!”

The floating swirl grew larger and Rogan’s ears popped. He drew
back as far as he could to the edge of the room as the swirl increased, near to
ten feet across. Rogan saw a shape forming in the glow and he felt pressure on
his bladder. Having seen monsters before, he stood, set down the jar with his
grandson’s soul in it, and took a piss as Meeble started to become solid in the
glow. Since he doubted Meeble wanted to be his friend, Rogan figured he’d
rather piss before fighting his final battle.

When Meeble stepped out of the swirling glow, Rogan was glad he
went, as he wanted to piss again.

FAR MORE IMPRESSIVE
than the towering, big-footed
beasts outside that clearly worshiped him, Meeble stood near to nine feet tall.
That came as a guess, as Rogan stood near to six and a half feet himself.
Unlike those skinny, wormy creatures, Meeble had a thick, hulking body, much
broader across, like a bull gorilla in the middle and thighs, but his arms hung
thinner, longer, like an orangutan, looking somewhat out of proportion with the
rest of him.

White fur covered his form, save for a bare portion on his chest
and belly, and there the skin held a bluish tint. Rogan noted the feet of the
beast held a simian touch, as they were near to hands, down to an opposable
thumb. However, the hands were not unlike human ones: hairy, palms blue and
clean, and yet they held a curled in dew nail, like a feline or dog. The feline
features didn’t stop there, for Rogan expected the face to be an apish
monstrosity, but Meeble’s eyes, green and striped down the middle, were set
into his boxy head like a cat, drawn up in an almond shape even. Down between
his eyes, an almost dainty nasal cavity snaked, and drew up like a lion’s
snout. The mouth wasn’t jutting or catlike at all, more flat and across, akin
to a cave covered by falling water, no definition.

When the head turned a little and the eyes blinked, Rogan’s heart
beat faster. The sides of Meeble’s head sported ears, slanted and pointy,
extending out from his head like a feline, and even twitching a bit. Meeble turned
some, slowly, and took note of Amazarak in the booth. Some move not unlike a
nod emerged from Meeble and he faced Rogan. Legs apart, he shuffled his feet a
little and stood firm, stretching his limbs, not ashamed that his furry penis
and balls swung from his crotch.

The thumbs on Meeble’s feet tapped the floor, almost like a
nervous twitch, but the rest of him didn’t appear shook up at all.

As the swirling circle behind Meeble reduced to the size of a
tiny foot-wide disk, Amazarak’s voice cut the tension, shouting out to Rogan,
“You better run, barbarian. As they say where I came from, you don’t know who
you’re fucking with.”

Rogan looked up into the face of Meeble and recalled the
Nephilum, Lambach, and how big he stood. At age thirty, Rogan’s army of rogues
had destroyed the half breed angel’s breeding domain at Baalbek, and Lambach
himself…but there had been two hundred of them and one of him. Now, these odds
sucked ass.

Hands gripped to fists, Rogan still leered at Meeble as he said
to Amazarak, “He doesn’t know who he’s fucking with.”

The cat eyes focused on Rogan, nostrils expanded, and one eye
seemed to quiver, perhaps an expression. Meeble may have had an idea of what
stood before him, perhaps even who if Amazarak fed him information, but he didn’t
give a damn. His mouth opened, the lips parted, and two words fell out.

“Show me.”

The voice dropped like rolling boulders, raw, deep but rough and
phlegmy.

Rogan showed no fear, even if he fought it down into the top of
his gullet. He eyed the beast, but didn’t draw his weapon. He looked for a
point to strike at. The strange, curling flopping penis held an obvious point
of assault for Rogan’s mind.

Meeble looked about the room, perhaps taking note of the ruined
tube and the armor of Amazarak on the floor. He then looked past Rogan, beyond
this great cavernous room into the next.

“My way,” Meeble grunted, hands flexing.

Rogan’s eyes narrowed, not understanding.

“My way,” Meeble repeated, hands together, almost wringing them,
thumbs on his feet tapping louder.

Rogan saw the path of Meeble’s look and glanced behind him at the
exit. Rogan faced him anew and nodded. “I am in your way, aren’t I?” he reached
back and drew his broadsword. “That I am.”

Meeble’s mouth drew at the corners, became broader, and Rogan
thought he heard a chuckle. “I am,” he said, chuckled again. “I am…I am…”  

When the member of the Thirteen started to move forward, Rogan
reared back, came up low, and stabbed for Meeble’s gut. The long arms moved
fast, the hands slapping on either side of the blade, stopping Rogan’s thrust
mere inches from the exposed belly. Meeble’s arms flexed and Rogan dropped his
weight, trying to avoid the coming pull that would’ve ripped the weapon from
his grip. Rogan’s body fell between Meeble’s legs and the sword slipped from
the hands. A chopping shot fell toward him from the right hand of Meeble, but
Rogan shifted, right into a chop of the left, but his blade pushed off on that
shot, the flat of the sword helping to mute the strike. Meeble’s hand didn’t slap
his face but bounced off his shoulder. Rogan felt like a stone block had
bounced off him.

Boots up together, Rogan kicked at Meeble’s balls. Though Meeble
had lowered himself to strike, Rogan had failed to estimate his distance right
and missed the testicles, but his boots did strike the end of the swinging
prick. Meeble reacted, stepping back from him and standing up straighter. Rogan
rolled and got to his knees. He could’ve sworn he saw the member protrude
spikes for a moment then return to normal.

I grazed his manhood and he reacted
, Rogan thought.
That’s
good news. I’ll have to tell the priests back home to put that in their books
.

He started to rise and Meeble moved on him, arms up, preparing to
drop a crushing blow. Rogan, still on his haunches, sprang, a shoulder block to
Meeble’s gut, the sword across him, jabbing at Meeble’s thigh. The long arms
went over Rogan, who didn’t wait to see if his gut tackle had any effect, for
Meeble stood and adjusted his strikes. Rogan hugged his right leg low, curled
about him, and swung the sword down. While his right hand drove the blade at
the top of Meeble’s foot, his left forearm came up between the being’s legs.

Rogan’s father, Jarek, had always said there was no such thing as
a fair fight. The shot to Meeble’s testicles proved effective and the huge
being reacted immediately, just like any man hit in such a place. He hunched
over, hands to his groin, face full of pain and eyes with anger.

Though his blow to the foot hadn’t landed properly, Rogan had it
all planned…he rolled between Meeble’s legs and would come up swinging, nailing
the throat with his sword for the kill shot. Rogan did just that, somersaulting
between his legs and pulling back for the deathblow. Meeble, though, let go of
his nuts and boxed Rogan’s ears. Feeling right away dizzy, and amazed his head
didn’t pop apart, Rogan found himself airborne, then slung across the room like
a disk at a gaming show. Crashing into a table, Rogan took out a few of the
glowing boxes and rectangular tablets with odd symbols on them. He rolled to
the floor again and got up fast.

Rogan had Meeble’s attention. He’d turned to block the way out,
focused on Rogan alone.

As Meeble turned to face him, he sprinted to one of the tubes
holding a body, wedged his sword against the wall, and pried it loose from the
moorings. He threw himself against the glass, and it toppled, set to crash on
the floor before Meeble. The tube hit the floor and didn’t break. It rolled
over and Meeble stopped it with his handish foot.