Robert Barlow

         Anyone else would have been a dead man.  But not Doctor Cyrus.  It was considered bad luck to kill your flesh alchemist and his messenger had announced the beginning of the transformation.

         I whirled my cloak about me and snatched up a blade concealed inside a scabbard, not fully trusting the two soldiers joining me when I emerged from the tent.  I saw that dawn had not yet cracked, but would in less than two turns of the glass.  The guards doubled their pace to keep up with my quick strides toward the experimentation tent.  I heard muffled groans long before entering.

         Two fiery braziers stood posted to each side of the wide experimentation table.  Dr. Cyrus leaned over the slave, an already abnormally large lad to begin with and twice that now.  The doctor lanced the crook of one elbow with a hollowed needle.  Brackish fluid funneled into the slave's vein.  It took not but a moment for the slave to shake with violence and his flesh to expand.  The increasing mass soon filled the slack chains ringing his prostrate form.  The doctor's assistants ratcheted more give through the flywheels lining the table.

         "My Lord Commander."  The doctor bowed before me.  "Allow me to explain the process."

         "Do so."

         "As you can plainly see, Commander, the serum has an almost instantaneous absorption rate.  Note if you will, the extreme vascularity."

         "The what, Doctor?"

         "Your pardon, Commander.  I refer to the extreme visibility of his veins.  Their expansion is due to an increased volume of blood intermixed with the serum.  It is flooding the surrounding tissue and forcing the muscular growth."

         "I can see that plainly enough."  In fact, expansion was quite an understatement. The slave's chest, shoulders, arms, and legs ballooned more like a water bladder, except with the striated definition of muscle.  The doctor rattled on about biceps and triceps, trapezoids and rhomboids, but I cared little for such details.  I wondered if the slave would retain his mental submission or else convert toward feral insanity.  The later was much more common for such undertakings, and I voiced as much to the doctor.

         "That is the genius of my formula, Commander.  I dare say, my Lord, that you will indeed witness the first unshackled beast."

         "For your sake I hope so.  He must know that I will execute his parents at the first sign of disobedience."

         And so it progressed.  Long past dawn, through mid-morn and mid of day and long past the end of day light did the transformation continue.  Numerous following injections contributed toward the beast's growth until the experimentation table suffered beneath his bulk and collapsed.  Then did my beast slumber for a week's time until on the eighth day when I visited him again.

         At first entrance into the tent I had to stifle a momentary panic.  It would be unseemly for my servants to notice anything but absolute control on my part.  And though the doctor had warned me beforehand I nevertheless startled at the sight of a beast without restraint.  The doctor swept to my side though not with his usual deference.  I would have to see about that.

         "He acknowledges his obedience toward you, my Lord."

         I nodded and looked over my beast in greater detail this time.  With steady steps I forced myself to approach him.  His eyebrows grew together thickly to form one dark caterpillar. The beast's skin seemed extremely taught, as if it had failed somehow to keep pace with the underlying muscle.  The area over his stomach was nothing less than an abdominally ridged drum.  His biceps heaped upward in layered mounds and every other portion maintained a contour as sharply chiseled as stone.  I surveyed this curvature of muscular detail, not because I admired the aesthetic qualities, but because I could envision the raw exercise of power from it.  And it was mine to command.  That same power would thrust my ascension to the throne.

         "Begin his training immediately," I said without revealing my excitement.

         I absorbed the next few weeks in preparation for the coming campaign.  Crocus would suffer defeat and long deserving he was.  I longed to see his hound whine.  Yet, despite my certainty much remained undone before battle.  All the more reason for my vexation toward Sub-commander Uriax.

         "The men simply do not trust an unshackled beast, my Lord."

         "Tell me, do they trust your whip?"  He looked quizzically back at me.  "If not your whip then do they trust my swift hand of judgment?"  Dawning realization must have struck then by the look of him.

         "Of course, my Lord."  Then he paused according to the custom of accepting rebuke.  "Still, the men seek some small reassurance from you, Commander."

         "A pity that their faith in me is still so weak.  That will change in time.  Very well.  Let it be known that my personal archers will stand watch over the beast.  The most deadly of poisonous concoctions coats their broad heads and is reserved for only the beast's treachery.  And, as always, will the beast's parents stand among my bodyguards, blinded and with my executioner ever ready.  Will that suffice the spineless ones?"

         "Yes, my Lord."  Did I detect hint of contempt?  No matter.  I vowed to remove it from Uriax's eyes if ever I saw it again.  But for now there still remained planning.

         "Grovel below me, Crocus," I said to the polite smiles of my senior officers.  That should put to rest their grumbling about why I forced the men on so hard to reach this place first.  It would do them well to remember that high ground is always worth exhausted troops.  Yet, even that would fail if my beast did likewise.  Nevertheless, I had positioned my spears, bows, chariots, slingers, and berserkers better than any commander my equal.  Not that there were many of those.

         Seemingly out of nowhere a heavy wind whipped through the ranks, tearing without prejudice at both my banners and those dotting the ranks below us.  I wondered what such a wind might do against flight of arrow, but no time remained for such fretting.  I had a battle to win.

         From the center of my formations strode my beast.  Even more massive than just a fortnight past, I could see that the doctor's steady injections coupled with the training had paid well.  Shielded from enemy archers, my beast slowly advanced against the foe, spiked tree club in hand.  Directly to his front surged the hound of Crocus, trailing over a dozen chains, all held taught by trains of strongmen.  The two-headed dog giant barely rose half of my beast's height, yet his compact strength and dagger length canines could easily ravage my greatest weapon.

         The two collosal figures finally clashed when the hound surged enough to drag down a number of his trailers.  I groaned when my beast's club whistled past the lunging hound.  In that instant two sets of slashing fangs clamped down on the beast's left arm.  One snarl engulfed the elbow from bicep to forearm and the other consumed wrist and hand.

         For a moment my beast reeled from the crushing pressure.  Then down fell the spiked tree trunk.  Crossways it crashed again and again until the hound's back caved inward.  Even then, my sub-commanders had to lash out with their whips so that the spearmen would come forward to pry the two death grips from my beast's savaged appendage.  My surgeons rushed in with great swaths of bandaging to stem the flow from the numerous puncture marks.

         I had no time to watch anymore of it.  Directing my formations to deliver the final thrust required all of my concentration.  Only after I ordered for the head of Crocus to be brought before me on a spike did I notice the commotion near the beast.  His arm secured with bandage and sling, the beast lumbered out of his designated area.  Sub-commander Sifas shouted for him to stop without avail.  I noticed a number of poison tipped arrows notched and drawn.  They meant to slay my beast in accordance with my own orders.

         I saw that the beast no longer held his club, but free handed did he reach toward one of my fallen spearmen.  I found myself actually wanting to see what the beast would do to the wounded man.  It was only one man after all, and a severely wounded one by all appearances.

         "No!  Stay your hand."  One of the archers failed to hear my command and would pay for it later.  The arrow arced true to path until one of the wind gusts, still blowing about us, pushed the missile just beyond the beast.

         Then I knew what the creature had been about.  Gently did he lift the wounded man and bore him back to that area my surgeons worked to salvage those unlucky in battle.  Many others the beast gathered as well, even from among the ranks of fallen enemy.  Curious.  Yet, not too interesting.  I preferred to look into the dull eyes of Crocus.

         It required many more weeks of preparation before my army was ready to face Telospis and his dragon.  During that time I monitored Doctor Cyrus's progress with my beast.  His new dimensions of height and mass surprised me.  Despite that he would still be a head shorter than the upright standing dragon, but well within striking distance of the new flail I had constructed for him.

         My one main concern was that the beast's mother had taken ill.  Even the best efforts of my surgeons barely kept her alive.  So far, I had managed to conceal this from the beast, though the coming battle might reveal all with her absence.  As such, I felt need to consult with Sub-commander Uriax again.

         "Are there any old hags amongst the camp followers that we might disguise?" I asked.

         "Most certainly, my Lord, yet I do not think it necessary."

         "Explain yourself."

         "Of course, Commander.  I have spoken many times to Aldos and he is quite aware of his mother's condition."

         "Aldos?"

         "That is his birth name, my Lord."

         "He is the beast! My beast."

         "Forgive me, Commander.  The men are of the habit of calling him by that name."

         "What of their former fear of him?"

         "My Lord, many of them are indebted to Aldos for either saving them or their comrades.  You also have many more slaves from among the enemy because of his efforts."

         "Indebted to a beast?  What of my strategic mastery?  Are the loyalties of my army truly so fickle?"

         "They are loyal to you, Commander."  Uriax bowed low as was expected of him.  "As are your officers.  I meant only to tell you, my Lord, that the beast is loyal as well, regardless of our threat to his parents."

         "Very well, though I do not readily believe it.  Nevertheless, I will hold you, Uriax, personally responsible for the beast's continued loyalty."

         Through my spyglass I examined the dragon from cavernous maw down past comparatively stubby fore limbs over massive hind legs that were counter balanced by a long whipping tail. In turn I swung my view over to my beast.  A huge oval buckler projected over the brace stabilizing his left arm.  Though his muscle had recovered easily, the bones had knit back together with just enough discord to limit his strength on that side.  I hoped the buckler would provide the protection needed for his weakened appendage while still allowing use of his left hand to accomplish my plan.

         In the next turn of the glass I nearly surrendered all of hope of victory.  Twice did my beast stagger and nearly fall.  Once from the dragon's lashing tail and then also from the crush of that great gaping cavern of a mouth.  The stalactite and stalagmite teeth puncturing the beast's shield would surely have severed him otherwise.

         Worse still, the dragon proved a greater agility than I'd anticipated.  The flail my engineers had fashioned for the beast did not as easily enwrap as I had envisioned.  Yet, eventually the beast proved his worth by closing enough to fully lodge the ball spiked chain links through the bone ridge grooves trailing down the dragon's upper spine.  Then the beast heaved until the reptilian tottered over.  It lay helpless to rise, harnessed by the flail, so that my spearmen could puncture the scaly hide like so many sewing needles in a cushion.

         Once again did the beast rescue the wounded rather than slaying the enemy, as was my want.  Still, I could grant the brute this one fault, for at least it resulted in the preservation of my own forces.  What bothered me more so was the men's growing affection toward the beast for these acts of mercy.

         It seemed a ridiculous waste of my spies and tale talkers, yet I would know of anything that might foment rebellion.  I made good use of this latest victory to know the heart of my men.  For whenever wine readily flows wet tongues fill the ears of my hearers.  I soon learned that the beast had accomplished much more than being merely an overly large litter bearer.  He had also taken to working in the tents of the wounded and speaking words of comfort, or so went the reports.

         I had no idea that the beast still had capacity for speech, let alone conversation.  Nor was I aware that he had formerly prepared for some sort of monastic existence prior to the interruption of slavery.  Apparently the beast and his parents had belonged to one of the monotheistic cults that the emperor had suppressed.  The pretender to the thrown had shown some limited wisdom in that matter.  Not that I thought much about any of the gods.  For I believed that offering allegiance to them merely disguised a man's lack of faith in his own destiny.

         I decided against causing any moral disruptions by limiting the beast's religious expression, for ultimately it would only be a matter of time before the flesh curse destroyed him.  Yet before that occurred he must aid me to the throne.

         It seemed as if my life were a great race stretching toward a culmination.  Army after army suffered defeat due to my decisive planning and my beast's enduring strength.  Though he no longer grew from the serum his health persisted, other than those parts of him that suffered from the affects of battle.

         It seemed strange luck that the cyclops amphibian destroyed one of the beast's eyes.  The pearly horned bull lanced the beast's side and still he persisted.  Even the jagged tattoos from the razor boar were no more crippling to the beast than the scarred flesh left across his chest and arms.  Each of these opposing creatures my beast slew in turn, using the weapons I designed.  In addition to the spiked log and chain flail, the beast learned to also wield the long poleax.  With that same weapon I hoped to match the monster enslaved to my greatest rival, other than the emperor himself of course.

         Flavius commanded his quill caster, a porcupine monstrosity that I would have need to armor my beast against.  For such did my crafters toil to overlap a blanket of metal plates resistant to the arrow like quills certain to prick my beast.

         My time passed mostly consumed with preparation for this final battle.  For with the defeat of Flavius, the emperor would dare not defy my usurpation. How could he with my armies swelled from the legions of those commanders previously defeated?  He kept no beast of his own since long had he relied upon the dissensions of his commanders.  Never had there been one powerful enough to rise above the others.  Until now.

         Only one thing still nagged at me, even as I stood upon the cusp of all that I had long desired.  The beast.  My beast.  As great an asset as he had been, yet still he presented a threat to my rule.  The religion that he fostered in his quiet ways proclaimed ultimate allegiance to a single divine king.  I dared not tolerate such a messiah as the one whispered amongst my army to be the truth, the life and the way.

         For that reason I consulted with Doctor Cyrus to produce a slow poison.  No martyr would I produce, but a natural death it would seem, if not mimicry of the very death the flesh curse would cause in its own time.  My only decision remained when to have the doctor administer his neutralizing substance.

         The quill caster approached my battle lines with much the same size as the dragon, though with a bulbous tail easily ten times in size to the previous creature.  The thousands of quills covering the rotund body grew to the height of javelins.  Yet the threat would spring from the hundreds sprouting from the tail.  For that very reason my beast sported thick armor interlacing sheets of plate that sandwiched curtains of hide.  I would soon know whether it would withstand long enough for the beast to close with his poleax.

         Horizontal showers of javelin quills assailed my beast.  Thickly did they sink into his armor, yet somewhat shallower than expected.  My astute preparations delighted me almost as much as the sight of my beast striding forward despite the forest now protruding from his front.  Two steps further brought the axe end of his twenty-foot pole sweeping down and into the stalks covering the quill caster.

         Like splintering branches the quills parted until stubby hide gave way to the fat and muscle beneath.  More quills pricked my beast but the caster could not get close enough to use his spiked tail like a club.  Always did the poleax intervene first.  How many chops did my beast make before the quill caster quivered in ruin?  I cannot say, though I did glory in the slaughter of it.

         Somewhere in the midst of it I felt a sharp poke against my right arm, but I did not heed it until my beast stood victorious.  I finally pulled back the silk sleeve to reveal a small welling of blood near my elbow.  A physician I would call in short order after directing the decimation of Flavius.

         Yet the words would not come and my thoughts seemed as thick as my tongue.  My sturdy chair supported me when my weak knees refused to.  The horror of my reaction remained within me while I helplessly watched.  My army did not attack nor did the forces of Flavius route as I expected.  My beast slowly removed each javelin and a mere handful of the points came out painted in this blood.  Once done he sat down to watch the approaching delegation surrounding Flavius.

         My nemesis grew nearer even as I struggled to remain awake.  The noonday sun reflected from the enemy commander's golden armor.  He removed his horsehair-plumed helmet just before stepping into the shade beneath my awning.  Long tousled locks fell down to cover much of the scaring scattered across his face.  He smiled broadly at the sight of me.

         "Maxus.  You devilish fiend.  I have a fate awaiting you worse than death and far more fitting.  I know you would love to regal me with your silver tongue, but Doctor Cyrus has guaranteed otherwise.  Uriax!"

         "Yes, my Lord."  The Sub-commander stepped forward and into my decreasing vision.

         "Make our armies one, just as we agreed upon."

         "Yes, supreme Commander.  And what of Aldos?"

         "Are there no wounded for him?"

         "No, my Lord.  There are only the dead who once numbered among the spies and sycophants of Maxus."

         "Very well then.  Let us ask Doctor Cyrus to opine about Aldos."

         "My Lord.  His slight wounds appear to be of no consequence, however he may not have over long to live out the curse upon his flesh."

         "I understand.  Then let him return to his monastery and his parents to their village if they wish it.  He has slain my beast and you, doctor, have proved your assertions that I need another like Aldos, though not as docile as he.  He makes a better healer than killer.  Though I do not ascribe to his beliefs, I have heard tell of them.  And I doubt not why his God, the one spoken of as Jesu Cristo, is called the Great Physician.

         "But enough of such things.  Doctor Cyrus, please begin your preparations immediately for the transformation of your former master."

         Help me.

         "Did you say something, Maxus?"

 

Copyright 2005, Robert Barlow

Robert Barlow has sold short fiction to Alien Skin Magazine, Far Sector SFFH, and Dragons, Knights and Angels Magazine. Robert works as a police detective in Oregon.

 

 

Cover: "Cat Under the Jack Moon"
Beth Zipay

Copyright 2005