Otrossius
in The Nest of Fire
by Steve Goble
Lungs
bulging until I could feel every
rib, I shoved my way out of the
foul pile and gulped desperately
for air—a big mistake when emerging
from the odorous, elephantine
droppings of a roc.
Otrossius,
that god-spawned half-mortal
bastard, stood three feet away
without even the tiniest splatter
on his sun-bronzed, muscle-rippled
skin. I wiped the mess on my
face, shook like a dog in a
futile attempt to rid myself
of offal and renewed again
my vow to finally—somehow!—find
the thing that could kill Otrossius.
I am Lacius,
cursed to travel with the Hero
of Formia to record his deeds
for posterity. I endure belchings,
fartings and imperial disdain
in proportions beyond all human
endurance, all because I was
fool enough not to flee the
kingdom when this appointment
fell into my naive and eager
arms. I’d expected travel,
adventure, a world of glories.
Instead, I found myself constantly
reamed by Fate.
The monstrous
bird who’d dropped his last
ten meals on me soared beyond
the slope of a green-tressed
mountain. Otrossius pointed
upward. “A climb for us, Lacius.”
“Yes,
my lord,” I said, stripping
from my reeking clothes. “Indeed,
the foul thing seems to nest
precisely where you deduced
it would.” Actually, the deductions
had been all mine, but I’ve
found it best to simply keep
asking easy questions until
Our Hero thinks his own logic
has solved the problem. In
truth, Otrossius can scarcely
think his way past a pint of
ale. But what need for a brain
when you can fell elephants
with your fist, when women
swoon at the mere sight of
you, when even giant meteors
of shit refuse to smack you
but unerringly find your underling?
Damn all gods who would sire
such as Otrossius on mortal
women!
My backpack
was coated with clinging turd-muck,
but the clothes within at least
had been spared direct contact.
They stank, of course, but
at that moment everything stank. “My
lord, if I might step into
yonder creek for a few blessed
moments...”
“No time
for that,” the blond giant
snapped. “We told the villagers
we would kill the roc, and
so we shall. Come! There are
deeds to be done!”
He strode,
magnificent, toward the mountain.
I imagined great talons raking
that broad back, digging deep
furrows in all that muscle,
ripping forth miles and miles
of dripping entrails and hanging
Otrossius from the trees. It
wasn’t as good as a bath, but
I enjoyed it nonetheless.
I followed
him for three steps before
the offal squishing beneath
my clothes changed my mind.
Stifling a scream, I ripped
off my clothes and ran to the
stream. I scrubbed and scratched
and smeared sand across my
body. It was glorious. I still
stank by the time I got out
of the water, and my skin was
raw, but at least the shit
was gone.
I wiped
water from my eyes and looked
around. Otrossius had gone
on without me. I wondered if
he had even noticed my absence?
He seldom even notices my presence,
after all, unless he needs
me to fetch something or wants
to blame me for something he
did or said. I dreamt, while
I dug clean clothes from my
bag, of simply slipping away.
But I knew that would annoy
Our Hero, and once he decided
to track me down no force in
the world could stop him. His
anger would be great. So, once
dressed, I trudged along in
his wake.
Darkness
was coming early, the way it
does in mountainous country.
From my pack I hauled out a
torch, an excellent, goo-tipped
one purchased in Sarheen. It
lit at the first spark of my
flint and steel. Then I could
find my way up the wooded slope.
Birds
and other creatures twittered
and cackled in the arboreal
wilderness. Occasionally, I
heard a snap or a thud that
hastened my steps. I hate Otrossius,
but he’s handy to have about
when something wants to eat
me.
Soon,
I saw the roc’s impressive
nest. Great logs, whole trees,
piled in a wide oval, precariously
perched on a bluff just large
enough to support it. That
bluff smelled of roc droppings,
and seemed paler than the rock
around it. No telling how many
eons of shit had accumulated
here; the legends of the roc’s
atrocities and depredations
were quite old.
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A poor imitation of an owl’s hoot
drew my attention, and I saw Otrossius waving. He had climbed
into the nest, presumably to surprise the arriving roc
with three feet of sharp steel. He beckoned me onward,
but I felt the view would be better where I was.
A wolf’s howl somewhere in the dark
forced me to calculate anew, and I decided I would be safer
by Otrossius. I doused my torch, climbed to the nest and
hauled myself up; the dry, dead branches left scrapes on
my arms and splinters in my fingers. But I made it up,
spurred by another low wolf wail. I clambered into a nest
of a size that put the largest ship decks I’d ever seen
to shame. It could have used a good stone-rub and swabbing,
though; layers of ancient bird shit mired my steps. The
bones of large animals littered the floor here and there.
“You are the slowest man in the world,” Otrossius
whispered, although he had to force himself to do so. His
eyes blazed the way they do when he’s angry. “How are you
to describe my conquest over this thing if you do not even
see it?”
I tried a quick deflection. “My lord,
I saw the bird occult the moon.”
He blinked. “Occult...?”
I sighed. Simple words, I reminded
myself. “It flew across the face of the moon, my lord.
It’s near, perhaps set to return any moment.” It was a
lie, of course, meant to divert Our Hero’s attention away
from flogging me. But as chance had it, the roc suddenly
came diving homeward with a great shriek.
“Stay out of my way,” Otrossius commended
tersely.
I nodded to assure him that was my
plan, no doubt.
The monster landed with a thud that
caused the entire nest to shudder. Otrossius stole forward,
which for him meant snapping branches with every fall of
his gigantic feet. I nestled myself into a gap between
dead oaks, and wondered if the beast would still be hungry
after feasting on Otrossius.
For one glimpse of the thing, up close,
had me convinced Otrossius finally would die.
The roc spread wings like galley sails,
and hopped toward Otrossius. It covered forty yards in
that hop, and the great beak rushed down at Our Hero in
the blink of an eye. I could make out little detail in
the dark, but the bird’s quickness and size gave me hope.
Otrossius suddenly seemed like a mouse. His sword flashed
and he leapt to one side; the beak ripped a gaping hole
in the floor of the nest and Otrossius hewed at the huge
feathered neck. The roc gave one mighty flap of those great
wings and lifted just beyond reach of Our Hero’s sharp
steel.
Then it dropped on him, and I stifled
a cheer—only to realize Otrossius had rolled clear. The
roc turned its monstrous back to me, and now stood between
me and Otrossius.
The great caws rattled my brain, and
the nest shook like a ship in a storm as the two adversaries
struck and dodged repeatedly. I concluded the battle would
likely send the whole nest toppling down the slope, and
so prudently decided to get out whilst I could.
I crawled along slowly, earning new
splinters and a fresh coat of sticky turd-muck. Behind
me, Otrossius laughed and the great bird shrieked. Our
Hero’s guffaws told me he was holding his own, and despair
gnawed at my guts. Otrossius was stupid, but he was quick
and never fatigued—he once wore out six whores in a single
night and went looking for a seventh. He might keep up
this battle for hours, and each passing minute meant better
odds that he would land the lucky blow that finally felled
the giant raptor.
I had failed again, it seemed. But
then despair, my constant companion, showed me another
way. A dry branch broke in my grasp, and the stench of
offal assaulted me as I clambered out of the nest. I had
an idea ...
I dropped, cackling madly. I dove
behind a boulder and retrieved another torch from the depths
of my pack. My nervous fingers thwarted me for long moments,
but finally a spark landed and the wonderful quick-firing
goo of Sarheen did its magic. The torch lit with a wondrous,
murderous hiss—and I lofted it easily into the giant nest.
Oh, the joy of it! Better than any
fireworks show back in Formia! The bone-dry tinder of the
nest caught, fueled by the eons of offal. In one glorious
heartbeat, I had created a pyre for the roc and Otrossius!
In the new orange glow, I saw the
combat clearly for the first time. Blood streaks lined
the roc’s huge beak, and its eyes gleamed like orange suns.
Feathers as large as hammocks drifted on the air as Otrossius
hacked and hewed. Claws like spears stabbed at him, and
now and then grazed him as he dodged and weaved. They both
moved with dizzying speed. The combatants seemed so intent
on destruction, they did not heed the fire rising around
them.
I laughed aloud. Finally! Otrossius
would die! I could return to Formia, tell the king of Our
Hero’s epic demise, share all the tales of wonder from
our travels. I would do my poetic best, emblazon Our Hero’s
legend upon the minds of the world—and be the center of
attention at all the best parties. My ship, so long awaited,
had come in at last.
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Smoke and flames obliterated all
signs of the fighting foes, and I wondered if they’d
died already. I thought I caught a whiff of roasting
meat. I laughed until spittle dripped on my chin.
The gods must have heard my laughter.
The nest slid, crackled, snapped,
sparked and tumbled. The whole fiery mass of it lurched
downward, and there I stood in its path! An avalanche
of fire, swift as a plunging hawk, intent on devouring
me!
I ran, and spent not one moment
thanking the gods for providing such bright illumination
for my headlong descent. The tumbling pyre pursued me
like a beast of prey—like a whole flaming wolfpack! There
was no cover anywhere that could hold off the death behind
me. Tears blinded me, and I cursed the gods who had decided
to avenge Otrossius so damned quickly and with such characteristic
irony.
Then something took me. I was lifted
aloft, onto broad shoulders. Otrossius! Here I had tried
to kill him, and now he sought to save my life. He plunged
down that slope faster than any other mortal alive might
have done, while I stared backward at the rushing wall
of flame that devoured the mountainside.
I saw by the pursuing light that
Otrossius had suffered blisters and fierce red burns
along with countless scrapes, bruises and assorted punctures.
I knew he would heal in no time—he always did—but felt
guilty nonetheless.
Then we lurched into space, and
became a pair of meteors as I left Our Hero’s grasp.
We plummeted together, perhaps thirty feet, and splashed
into a cool mountain stream. It was shallow, and my ankle
nearly snapped like a stale biscuit. My back bent awkwardly
over a stone and all the air left my lungs, but I noted
Otrossius landed in a perfect crouch. The bastard.
He lifted me and dragged me across
the stream, safe from the hurtling doom. I saw the monster’s
blazing carcass, shedding feathers of flame, roll along
with the inferno.
Then Otrossius propped me against
an oak.
“My lord, you saved my...”
“Silence, oaf!” His eyes, inches
from mine, bored into my soul and looked for things inside
me he could twist and rend. “I saved you so I could kill
you myself, with my bare hands!”
I must confess I wet my breeches
at this point. I forgot all about the pain in my ankle,
too. But I come from a long-lived people, and even as
one part of my mind imagined being torn asunder by Our
Hero’s teeth and fingernails, another part worked furiously
to find a means by which I could live to die another
day. Preferably a day far, far in the future.
“My lord, I confess,” I blurted,
if only to buy another heartbeat or two. “It is all my
fault, I have failed you...”
“Failed me! You...”
“Yes! I failed you, mighty lord!” An
idea was forming, and it was my only chance. “My poor
linguistic skills nearly cost Formia its greatest hero!”
I saw it, a wedge by which I might
squeeze my way to a small chance at life. He was momentarily
confused, dazed by a scholarly word with three syllables.
Linguistics was not his strong subject.
My teeth chattered, but I pressed
forward. “I translated the scrolls as best as I could,
my lord! Did I not find the roc? Did I not find a new
battle to display your awesome prowess?”
He nodded stupidly, but his eyebrows
lifted at the mention of his prowess. He would bask for
a moment in narcissistic glory, giving me time.
“But I failed, my lord Otrossius,
for obviously I did not understand the full portent of
the texts I translated.”
Puzzlement danced across his chiseled
features. Ah! Salvation!
I made my desperate verbal thrust. “I
swear to you, my lord, I had no idea rocs could breathe
fire!”
Thank all the gods, he bought it.
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