The Butcher of Gadobhra

Chapter 563: Bath Night

Suzette had been keeping an eye on the part of the barbarian force who had delayed their entry into the battle. Seeing the disparity in the levels of that group and the people they'd just slaughtered made her understand the reason. "Ozzy, this was the farm team. The major league is getting hairy and coming down to play."

The Butcher agreed, "Back to the wall, we need to defend and slow them up. Can you summon a thorn wall."

She shook her head, "No, too far from...too far. And someone else rules these lands. Maybe in Billy's Barony, but not here."

"Then we do this the old fashioned way. Boys! Lock and load, I'll yell when to fire."

The preparations for the upcoming battle had included more than just digging a prepared position. The soldiers had stared in awe as the Butcher reached into his magic bag and pulled out the parts for a dozen Onagers and the heavy ammunition they fired. Each could be assembled and crewed by three men. None of them were trained on this, but luckily, Bertrand and Ernest were very good at puzzles and helped get everything assembled, ammunition loaded, and then helped the crews crank the machines until they were ready to fire. Aiming was straight forward, the machines arm came up and slammed into a heavy beam, the sling with the heavy stone whipped around and fired straight down range with enough force to take down castle gates. Ozzy had planned to deliver them to the army in Wolfsburg, but neglected to drop them off. A dozen onagers could come in handy in so many ways, and he was sure the Duchess wouldn't mind him delivering them here. As he watched the barbarians scream and yell to their leaders' speech and drink some brew from a cauldron, he unpacked anything else useful from his bag.

Suzette was aiding Titania with another brew, watching as the older witch pulled ingredients from pockets in her sleeves, and some from her socks and hat. She kept glancing at the tribesmen as she did.

"Deary, those boys are going to be trouble. That is one hell of an old curse linking them all together. It's a Blood Curse, an ancient one, and it links them to some powerful spirit. Generations old, reinforced with inbreeding, slaughter, and blood rituals. They may look like fuzzy forest critters, but they're closer to frenzied demons at this point. And that's very important..."

Suzette looked at her, Titania's eyes still had the madness of battle in them. She'd only quit chopping at the bodies when Ozzy had picked her up from behind, pinning her arms, and forcing her to calm down. The axe was in her belt, but it was dripping blood, constantly, and humming to itself. "Important, why?"

The old witch cackled, "Because what I'm going to do, with your help of course, is toss something very bad at them. So bad, it might put me on a wanted poster for life if I did it while working for someone evil. Well, theoretically. But here, it's all white witch stuff, right? Just doing a minor bit of evil to save these fine young lads from death at the claws of demonic bears."

Suzette looked at the charging bears, then at the swirling cauldron of bad magic, then back at the bears. "Hey, who am I to say that someone can't use questionable methods? These jerks didn't have to invade us. But, what does it do?"

The witch grinned, and her larger eye glowed, "Oh, that's the fun part. It doesn't do much to them, other than a slight change of targets." She kicked the cauldron hard, making it bubble and froth before it spewed red mist that raced across the closing distance, spreading out to envelop the Jarl and his troops.

Sitting on one of the wagons, Ernest said "Bad Brew."

"Oh, good one! We're really coming up with some great stuff for B day."

"Read them back to me. I like hearing them."

"Sure thing, pal. We've got Beastly, Bears, Big, Butcher, Bacon, and Banana Bread."

"Very kind of you to share your lunch with me. Thank you."

"Hey, what are friends for? Speaking of new friends, what do you think the Butcher is going to give them? That's an awfully be stick he just pulled out of his bag."

"Well, I for one, am excited and waiting with 'Bated Breath'"

"Well done, old buddy, that's a double word score!"

"Rubber Ducky helped. Say, Bertrand, where's your paperclip collection? Did you set it down somewhere?"

"Well, sort of. My pocket has a hole it it and while I was wandering around the camp, I lost them in the snow."

"Don't worry, I'm sure they'll turn up and someone will find them."

Bertrand grinned, "Someone's about too."

As the two workers carried on their conversation, the throng of maddened skin walkers were charging across the snow, some on four legs, some on two. They were too maddened to notice when small pieces of wire snapped into new shapes and stood upright. Bear paws and bare feet came down hard on the standing bits of wire, piercing deeply and making every step agony as the wire was driven deeper into their feet. The charge became a stumble, and some of the fully transformed creatures began to gnaw at their feet and bite on the wires.

Ernest clapped his friend on the back. "I have more words that start with B: Bandages, and Boo-Boo."

Bertrand produced a small wooden container. "Me to: Back in the Box." The bits of wire ripped loose from bloodied flesh and flew to the box, resuming the shape of a normal paperclip. Bertrand slip it into his pocket. "It was nice of them to help me find them all." They sat, watching the soldiers cranking the onagers, and ate their banana bread. The red mist from the cauldron was now sending out tendrils, and seeping into the attackers. One by one, they stood and began to growl and yell, venting their anger, enhanced by the pain in their feet.

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Titania looked at the stumbling barbarians and grimaced, "Five hundred and sixty-two years conjuring curses, and I never considered using paperclips. I'm going to have to up my game." She crossed her fingers, whispering. "Come on boys, you're pissed off and every step hurts."

One warrior laughed at another that had gnawed off his own foot. The man behind him didn't like his laugh and slapped him in the back of the head, claws tearing away a chunk of bone. The two dove at each other, clawing and screaming. Gnaw-foot joined in, as did four more who didn't like gnaw foot. Small slights were remembered, jealousies, grudges, anything that would give their maddened minds a reason to lash out. And then it didn't matter, their bloodlust kicked in hard and anything nearby was prey. Only seventy feet from the wagons, the bears formed a huge pile of clawing, biting fury that had to be vented on someone. The Jarl was in the center, a gigantic cave bear who was pissed at all the idiots in his way and determined to kill them all.

Suzette looked at the carnage and said, quietly, "Holy shit. I think your game is pretty damn solid. That is one...um...one very nice pieces of white magic."

Ernest wrote the word, 'berserk' on their list.

Ozzy yelled, "Fire!" He'd walked along the line, adjusting the aim of each machine and now twelve 'Mule kick' onagers, made by Baron William's finest artisans and blessed by the priests of Ares, threw ten pound stones at frightening speeds. They hit the pile of bears like bullets hitting Jell-O, blood and body parts exploding in all directions. The sight stunned the soldiers, as they saw the carnage they'd inflicted on the bears still fighting with each other.

"Reload and get cranking, unless you want what's left figuring out who did that." The Butcher's command cut threw the haze, and they got to work. Ozzy picked up his new caber and grinned over at Suzette. "I've been wanting to try this sucker out all week." The caber looked normal, but then she saw that it wasn't a solid piece of wood. It was made of long staves, with copper rings holding them together. It was almost two feet thick in the center. A long, thin barrel, and she could guess what was in it.

"Did you test it yet?"

He grinned, "Testing it now. You guys should all duck down for a second, just in case." No one was slow to do that. The normal soldiers were shaking and trying not to run as the sound of the wounded bears grew louder and louder.

Ozzy threw the caber high in the air, where it turned over once and came down in the middle of the pile, where the plunger device on one end drove into the vials of explosive potions, setting them off, and creating a chain reaction as more and more exploded, spread the Greek fire in the center over the whole pile. Bears and barbarians and all the creatures in between were scattered around the area, injured, half dead, and on fire. The Jarl was trying to get up, one leg nearly torn off and missing his left paw. Being covered in flame didn't make him any happier.

"Get up. The meat is in front of you. Kill them, not each other. CHARGE!"

Bertrand wrote down the words Burning, and Blisters. Ozzy yelled, "Fire!" Again, twelve onager arms snapped forward, slamming into the crossbar and the slings whipped around, and sent the equivalent of a stone cannonball into the attackers. If the effects of the second barrage were less, with the targets spread out, the effect on morale was far worse. Half of the tribe was so hurt that their rage had left them. When nearby companions exploded as twelve shots scythed through their ranks, they knew fear. The sight of the Jarl taking a shot to the chest and going down broke many of them. They began to run, even as a dozen of the most ferocious started towards the wagons and Ozzy prepared to wade into them.

Bertrand and Ernest stepped to the front, Bertrand saying. "It's bath night."

Ernest giggled, "And rubber ducky makes bath night fun." He held the small rubber duck forward, and a high pressure stream of hot, sudsy water sprayed out, knocking the attackers down. Covered in foam that burned, they got back up, screaming in pain as their skin burned, and their blood rose from their wounds, turning to an angry red mist. Seconds later, their were no bears, only scared and angry naked men, stripped of their claws and fur.

Titania was laughing, "By the twelve gods whose names you don't say, I've never seen anything like that. He washed off their curse. It's hovering around them, trying to reconnect. Damn, I have got to convince that boy to teach me that spell."

The barbarians backed away, slowly, the clean ones following those who had left earlier. The Jarl got to his feet, still a wounded bear, screaming with a man's voice. "Cowards. Deserters. You shame the tribe! You don't deserve your blood! It is wasted on you."

The mist raced towards him, and all the men fell to the ground, blood pouring from their wounds, pooling around them, and then turning to mist as well. Above the battlefield the image of the Great Cave Bear formed, red and angry. And then it rushed at the Jarl, who healed and grew, as the spirit was stripped from two hundred of his tribe and now was his alone. He rose to his full height, a great bear, over thirty foot tall, and laughed as he looked down on his foes, his voice bestial and thunderous.

"I am the Great Bear, a God among puny mortals. Your flesh will fill my belly and your lands are mine!" Then he charged at them, his roar shattering eardrums and causing soldiers to faint.

Bertrand calmly said, "I'm going to add 'Blunder' to the list."