Errors of the Flesh Read online

  Errors of the Flesh

  Scott E. Colbert

  Published by Bandersnatch Books, 2020.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  ERRORS OF THE FLESH

  First edition. April 1, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Scott E. Colbert.

  ISBN: 978-1393964353

  Written by Scott E. Colbert.

  Also by Scott E. Colbert

  Barbed Wire Kisses

  Detritus

  A Journey Through Perversion: The Films of John Waters

  Celluloid Flesh: The Films of David Cronenberg

  Beyond Coffee and Cherry Pie

  Tilting at Windmills: The Films of Terry Gilliam

  Life in Amber

  Errors of the Flesh

  Watch for more at Scott E. Colbert’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Scott E. Colbert

  Author’s note

  1: In the Sewers

  2: Hard Lessons

  3: Drunk Elves and Dancing Roosters

  4: Da’Nel of ThrockMorton

  5: Goodbyes

  6: Bernholdt Beckons

  7: The Mourning After

  8: Kiandra’s consequences

  9: Ruins of Killgarter

  10: Body Politic

  11: Druid, Scryer, Teacher. Flyer

  12: Druids, Dwarves, and Demons

  13: Resurrections and Exchanges

  14: Trapped

  15: Cells

  16: The Locked Room

  17: The King

  18: Cunning Plans

  19: Out In The Open

  20: Confrontation

  21: Waiting

  22: Moving Forward

  23: False Gods

  24: Subtraction

  25: Glistening Maw

  26: Tempers Flaring

  27: Old Friends and New

  28: Blood and Body

  29: Reunion

  30: Jaxon and the Wilderens

  31: Caravan

  32: Forward, March!

  33: A Hard Time

  34: Assault on Tulan

  35: A Return to the Dancing Rooster

  36: An Uneasy Truce

  37: Ships in the Night

  38: Denouement

  39: Promises Kept, Promises Broken

  Epilogue

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  Also By Scott E. Colbert

  About the Author

  Author’s note

  So far as I can tell, or recall, the seed for Errors of the Flesh took root in 2014. I’m lousy at keeping records and only know the year because I posted an excerpt from it on November 16th of 2014 on my blog.

  I remember seeing a story about a man who had two penises, and that idea intrigued me. The novel had a different title then, All the King’s Plows, but I changed that to Errors of the Flesh when I picked it back up in early 2019. I’d planned to make it more lighthearted and bawdy than it turned out to be. You can still see traces of that, but my darker nature took over and made it a bit more... visceral. Incorporating vanishing twin syndrome helped that along considerably.

  The character of Kharisi was an old friend to me. I created him for a Dungeons and Dragons game back around the turn of the century, and he never quite left my consciousness. When I decided I wanted to try writing a fantasy novel, and the idea of two penises came into play, Kharisi seemed to be a natural fit (so to speak).

  Why write a fantasy novel, you ask? Well, I strive to do something different with every book. Barbed Wire Kisses was a Western, Life in Amber a psychological thriller, so fantasy seemed the next logical choice. Being a huge fan of RPG’s as well, it made sense.

  I’ve had more fun writing this than anything else I’ve ever done. It’s also been the hardest, what with world-building, keeping up with all the characters, getting the names right, and being consistent, it turned out to be a bit of a chore. I kept notes on things I would forget, and that helped. Still, I’m not sure I would build another world again (or even revisit this one). Works like these really need outlines, and I don’t like making outlines. However, I’ve grown fond of these characters, so who knows.

  2019 was a shit year if I’m being honest, but the adventures of Kharisi and company helped a lot. Still, I couldn’t have done this without the help of friends and family.

  A huge amount of thanks go to my family, who, while not understanding why I write what I do, support it nonetheless.

  I couldn’t have finished this without the encouragement of my podcast co-host Todd Staruch. Also in the same vein, the unconditional love, support, and goading of my dearest friend Jay Zane have been crucial. He’ll never truly know how much his friendship means to me.

  Thanks again to Jerry Janda for being a beta reader and providing his opinions. There are only a handful of people whose opinions I trust without question, and Jerry is one of those.

  And of course, to you, the reader who’s come on the journeys I’ve laid out for the better part of a decade now. I do what I do for your enjoyment and hope this adventure does not disappoint.

  Scott Colbert

  Phoenix, AZ

  02/14/20

  This is for long-time friends Chris O’Donnell, Steven Fallon, Janet Loerzel, David Irvin, Kal Taber and Jim Saccoman

  “Can we become other than what we are?”

  Marquis de Sade

  1: In the Sewers

  Kharisi skewered the rat with the tip of his blade. He watched with delight as the vermin wriggled, even as its moist guts clung to the weapon. He turned and shook the quivering rodent at his Dwarven companion. “Didn’t you mention lunch a moment ago?”

  Petram Grimfoot glared at Kharisi and stroked a long, luxurious beard that was no longer there. Realizing his old habit, he let out a fart in the Elf’s direction.

  “The most sense you’ve made all day, ” Kharisi said. He lowered the weapon, and with one foot pushed the dead animal off and stepped on its head, grinding bone and brain beneath his boot. He walked a few paces ahead of Petram, as the sound of dripping water echoed off of moss-covered walls. “Well, Dwarf, which way?” Kharisi didn’t look behind him but could hear the stocky Petram catching up to him.

  Petram stood by the elf’s side and looked around. He held out the burning torch in front of him and squinted. They were at a four-way intersection, and he immediately dismissed the path in front of them as it was barred by an iron gate. To the left, a dark shaft, and from the right, he noticed a slight breeze carrying the smell of offal. “This way,” he said.

  “Lead on,” Kharisi muttered, gesturing for the dwarf to move ahead of him. As they started for the rightward tunnel, Petram stopped, held up a hand, and drew his ax.

  “What is it?” Kharisi asked, as the sound of multiple legs scurrying behind them answered his question. He laid a hand on the hilt of his sword and could feel the hairs from the enormous spider brush the back of his neck. Kharisi held his breath, his grip tightening on the sword's hilt, as the spider started to rise and strike. Kharisi turned, his motion a blur, as the blade began sinking into the largest of the six eyes. The spider let out a scream, chilling Kharisi’s marrow. It backed away, blood and gore dripping from the wound. Petram not wanting to miss out on the fun took a short leap and plunged the fire end of the torch into the ruined orb.

  The now flaming spider moved back even further, hissing and spitting phlegm. Wads of toxin sizzled as they hit the damp floor of the sewers.

  “Kill it you damned useless dwarf!”

  Petram grunted and swore under his breath. He dislodged the torch which ma
naged to remain lit, and replaced it with his ax, chopping away at the spider, avoiding the venom, and still managing to get hit by gouts of blood. Not for the first time, he cursed the Bards for making the slaughtering of beasts sound so easy. One quick thrust my ass, he thought. As he hacked away, he saw Kharisi move, swift as the wind, to the backside of the spider, then climb on top, before he rammed his sword into its head.

  It gave one final squall and slumped, dead as can be.

  Kharisi sheathed his weapon, jumped down from the corpse and looked at the dwarf. “All that hacking and mucking about wastes too much energy whereas a deftly placed strike works every time. Ask the Bards.”

  Petram grumbled something impolite and put his ax away. He pushed Kharisi to the side and stormed ahead. As he set off to follow the dwarf, Kharisi noticed something glimmer in the muck and bent down to pick it up-pocketing it before Petram could see.

  He smiled and continued on.

  “How much more of this place is there?” Petram asked. Kharisi gave a small shrug. “After the Arnisian War decimated the country, the Queen’s great grandfather ordered these to be built for any emergency or need to escape. They’ve been expanded upon since, and seeing as how peace reigns-however fleeting-our good Queen has seen fit to make it a sewage system, fit only for vermin and shit.”

  Petram looked up at Kharisi, studied the elf’s emerald green eyes that verged on translucence. The alabaster skin only heightened their deep color. “Are you sure? I’ve never seen anyone working on them, or digging.”

  “Mages perhaps.”

  Petram gave a laugh that wouldn’t have been out of place in a kennel. “As if a mage would sully their precious feet and robes down here.”

  Kharisi pondered this for a moment, wondering if at first, it was a jab against elves, as most wielded magic. Kharisi could as well, but it was weak, his strong suit had always been his physicality In spite of race, Kharisi stood a few inches taller than most elves and possessed a physique befitting the Arnisians from the North. A stocky, fierce nation, all but wiped out after King Haveron destroyed it with the use of a mana bomb. Much as he hated to admit it, however, Petram was probably right-Elven mages could be a rather prissy group. He sighed and continued walking. “Be that is it may, it changes not one fact that these sewers do seem to be getting bigger. I remember as a boy, when these were first being built, I would come down and practice my swordplay on the rats. There were few places to go or hide and the rats then were smaller, weaker and far more frightened of me, than I of them.”

  They soon reached a dead end, with the only other option being to go back. “Did we miss a turn?” Petram asked. He leaned against the stone wall, and when it gave way, he fell back into the opening it had created. Kharisi grabbed the torch that had tumbled from the dwarf’s grip and held it out after extending his arm into the newly created entry.

  “My my, you’ve earned your gold piece for today my friend.” He patted the top of Petram’s head, who took a not so serious swipe at the elf’s hand.

  “All you’ve earned is an ass-kicking, now let’s see where this goes.”

  Kharisi ducked to get into the opening, and what they found themselves in wasn’t another corridor, but a large room. In the center was a fire that gave off no smoke or created any shadow. A cauldron sat on the floor next to it, big enough for someone to sit inside. Petram and Kharisi looked at one another, unease enveloping both of them. “Stay close,” Kharisi said in a hushed tone. “Put the torch out,” he added, “we don’t want to be too obvious.”

  “Like Elder beasts on the plains,” a voice rang out. It sounded old and haggard as if it took everything for the owner to say those few words. Both knew not to let their guard down, as Crones were known to be very tricky. “Come, come, I won’t.... bite!” A cackle of laughter and a flash of light blinded them briefly and when they could see again, there was a shady figure next to the cauldron, hunched, withered, and covered with a cowl that had straggles of straw coarse gray hair peeking out. In spite of the dark clothing and shadow, there was a transparency to her that made them feel uneasy.

  “I said, come.”

  The duo found themselves walking to the elevated platform where the Crone and her pot waited. Sweat began beading on their foreheads. This despite the fact the fire she had going gave off no heat. Petram was the first to climb up the three shallow steps and stood within striking distance of the Crone, though he gave no appearance he would do so. The Crone eyed Petram, scanning him with an intensity that Kharisi found frightening. “I’ve no interest in you, dwarf!” She said, and with a small flick of her wrist, Petram was flung backward as an unseen force blew him off the altar.

  “You, Elf, give to me what is mine.” Flames danced in her white blinded eyes. There was a sliver of saliva dripping from the corner of her toothless mouth. The nostrils on her sharp nose twitched with impatience.

  “I have nothing for you, hag, not even a stiff wand for you to fondle.”

  “Hag?” she cried, her stooped posture stretching itself out until she stood straight and tall. “Watch your tongue, Elf! You killed my precious Yolanda, then stole the necklace I gave to her. Tread carefully. Hand it to me and you may even live.”

  Kharisi had no doubt she was serious, and while Crones weren’t necessarily good, they never went out of their way to harm a stranger. That was until Kharisi met this one, whose heart was as black as the robes she wore. It must be important if she’s threatening. Can’t let her have it then. “Perhaps in your old age, you’ve forgotten things. Why would you give a necklace to a spider? Anyway?”

  “That is not yours to know. Give it to me.” Her voice was bleak and frosty. Kharisi stood there, unmoving and steadfast.

  “Once more, I know nothing about it.”

  “Liar! I saw you pocket it, look in the cauldron,” He did as instructed, and saw the fight with the spider on the oily surface of the bubbling liquid. He watched as Petram kept chipping away and Kharisi snuck around to deal the final blow. He saw himself pocket the thin, silver necklace and catch up to Petram.

  Kharisi refused to admit his thievery and remained silent. He put his fist in his pocket, clutching the jewelry. As he pulled his hand out, Kharisi unfolded his fingers, showing the necklace on his sweat-slick palm. The crone snatched for it but was too slow, as Kharisi moved his hand then unclenched his fist to show the necklace had disappeared.

  “Enough games,” the crone said with a quiet voice. “That necklace is mine and I will have it.” From within the sleeve of her robe, she pulled out a gnarled branch of a wand and pointed it at Kharisi. A thin blue beam of light pulsed from the stick and sent a wave of frost over Kharisi’s body. He could feel his toes starting to freeze to the point he was unable to wiggle them. His teeth chattered as his torso shivered. Kharisi’s eyes began to burn as he couldn’t blink, and the tears which started to fall became little shards of ice. As he tried to close his mouth, his jaw froze in an O position, which he thought would bring no shortage of amusement to anyone who might see.

  The Crone moved closer, and the cold became stronger. She cackled and was so intent on Kharisi, that she hadn’t noticed Petram sneaking around behind her, ax held high. “That’ll be enough of that!” he said, and swung horizontally, cutting the Crone’s head clean from her body. The head flew through the air, as the body crumbled to the floor. Her wand fell to the ground, bounced and hit Kharisi between his now thawing legs. In almost an instant, his bulge grew and distorted the front of his leggings. Petram pretended not to notice and grabbed the wand, but it crumbled in his hand, leaving nothing but shavings.

  “You had the necklace all this time and said nothing?” Petram said, his face turning red as much from anger as the embarrassment.

  “I had a necklace. But it’s so plain I had no idea it belonged to a hag” He made no attempt to hide his engorgement, though he was still feeling the effects of the Crone’s freezing spell. He may not have even noticed were it not for the fact Petram kept glancing at it.
Kharisi looked down and grinned. “Apparently something is still frozen. Care to warm it up?”

  Petram gave him a look of disgust and turned. “Let’s just get out of here,” he said, walking away. Kharisi remained quiet and followed, kicking the Crone’s bloody head out of the way with more than a little spite.

  2: Hard Lessons

  Prince Saerus was, with one exception, a perfectly ordinary boy. He drew no particular attention, nor did he harbor any detractors. As it was a time of peace and had been for so long as anyone could remember, there was nothing to do, aside from staying out of trouble and preparing to be King. It was a simple goal and a simple life for a not so simple heir.

  His mother Queen Dinah kept trade routes open with Arnisia to the north and Bernholdt to the East. To the West was nothing but the Scorched Wastes, home, as legends had it, to dragons, though no one had seen any for several generations. Ruling Tularen was a walk in the park, and because of this Dinah was one of the most popular rulers in anyone’s memory, and this gave her the time to spend with her son.

  Saerus, for his part, was not a loner by nature, and in spite of being an only child, and relishing how he was doted on by his mother, he tried to enjoy the company of others. It was only when he reached the dawn of manhood and his disfigurement became more noticeable that the Prince began to withdraw.

  Saerus was born with two penises. While it was something very easy to hide as a small child (which his mother did by having special undergarments made for him). As he grew older the special clothing could no longer conceal his problem. Not only were there two of them, but both measured above average in length and girth, making them more difficult to hide when they became strong as steel.

  He was on the eve of celebrating his passage into true adulthood when his mother’s nursemaid summoned him from his studies. He rolled up the scroll, wrapped a blue satin band around it, then placed it in the leather tube before locking it in a chest with his other school supplies. He hurried to keep pace with his mother’s attendant and lost sight of her as they scurried up the winding staircase to her chambers. Queen Dinah had been ill for some time, and the increased schedule of studying, and secrecy of the lessons, had not been lost on the young man. He was being groomed to be King far sooner than anticipated, and though no one said that out loud, his instincts had never betrayed him. Saerus knocked softly on the wooden door to his mother’s chamber, and after a moment, her weak voice invited him in.