by Simon Archer
The smell. The stink. The stench. The miasma surrounding everything, filling the air with more greenish-brown. My eyes watered. My nose was on fire. My skin itched. This place was unholy.
The bed curtains were open on the giant bed, twice the size of a king in every dimension, with pink sheets and purple frills to them. On the bed was a round sphere sunk into the mattress and to the floor, about the length of a car, with a pair of thick columns shaped in lightning bolts stuck to the side closest to us. Behind the curve of the sphere, two long pillars poked out, hanging off of the bed on both sides. The entire thing was covered in metal plates, and the snoring clued anyone close that this thing was actually a creature, specifically the Baron; the thick columns were legs, and the long pillars were arms. And he slept in his armor.
Before we could move to take any actions whatsoever, paws patted up the steps curling at the back edge of the room, followed by a thin and spindly Wolf walking up the steps. He wore the classic lordly blue I’d become accustomed to, with enough white frills coming out of every possible place they could to choke a blue whale. He wore a very white pair of pants, with even more frills at the bottom, not covering the giant paws or grey-and-red mixed fur on them. His face had the same fur, with some of it at the back braided like human hair into a ponytail. On his snout were three different pairs of glasses, all of which he looked through as he looked at the book in his hand.
I pushed Tinker with a hand, and we took a few steps back, hiding under both the snoring and the shadows to conceal us. Completely ignoring us, he turned on a pivot to face the bed as he peaked the stairs, walking straight to the snoring mass that was the Baron.
They didn’t even see us. The soft entrance meant nobody heard us, and all of this brown sticky fly shit meant they couldn’t smell us. We were invisible. I put a hand up to Tinker, slowly encouraging her out and around. We had to get the Baron to fight us in a fair fight, anyway, so we couldn’t sneak-attack him, but we could set up a position to start the fight well. I wanted to know what this noble had come for, too. Sneaky mindset: activate.
“Your Gloriousness, He Who is Beyond All in Thumperton Port,” the noble spoke the full title of the Baron, “The Blood Lord, War Incarnate, Prestigious Noble of Nobles, Bull of the Night, Burning Fire King, Powerhouse Who Rocks the Blouse, RockCrusher, Sir Lord Baron Mufften-Sharfnar-Cherrywin-Mesquiteburle-Squrtonleaf-Zibbletrunk-Toothback-Blurgerterger, I request an audience with you.” I couldn’t-- I mean-- If you-- why?
“Mrfshsckrbmmm…” The Baron, who I now understood why he was referenced only as such, stopped snoring, unclogging nostrils of wet and slimy mucus as he was roused from his slumber. “Isnmptssss…?”
“Yes, my liege, quite important, actually.” The noble answered the question the Baron somehow asked through its mumbling nonsense. “It seems that your request for a trade for the Mana Crusher Field generator’s bunny has been denied by the Regent.”
That’s a lot of information in one sentence. So, the big generator my boys were talking about was called the Mana Crusher Field generator. Was the one Tinker was in called the Mana Smusher, then? He talked about it like it was the generator like there was only one. Does that mean Tinker’s generator wasn’t supposed to be built? It seems they’d want everyone to make generators to stop bunnies from portal-hopping unless that was only a beneficial side-effect. That meant the generator was built for something worse. The ‘Mana Crusher’ name was a ruse. Why the fake name? Goddamnit, that was all speculation, no facts. Maybe I was overthinking this. I hoped I was.
The bunny in the generator, though, was much more important. She must have been something special if all the bigwigs of the Wolf nobility were after her. We had to find her. That would have been a monkey-wrench for all the nobles, and whatever that generator was really doing. It was going to be Blood Moon related, and I still didn’t know when that was.
“Whrdthdnthhhh…?” The Baron shifted in the bed, wiggling and breathing heavily as he continued his gibberish speech. He better not have been giving critical information in that gibberish, too. I’d have been pissed if we found out he was.
Out of the corner of my eye, Tinker had crouched down like a frog, holding her mallet up above her head as she pretended to be another piece of furniture, yet slowly inched by to a spot right behind the noble.
“Criminal charges, Your Gloriousness.” The noble responded to the mumble again. I swear this noble was talking to himself and pretending the Baron was responding. “They informed us that, upon the discovery of the bunny facsimile your lowly and stupid servants had foolishly created as a decoy, you were deemed a criminal of the state, and therefore were no longer suitable to trade with. Because of this, they are sending a champion challenger to take over your position.”
We just came here at exactly the right time, didn’t we? A fake bunny for a trade meant the Baron wasn’t helping the Regent and heavily suggested that his generator was unsanctioned. He needed a more powerful bunny before the Blood Moon, either for the banquet or for whatever the generator did. If he was willing to risk a fake bunny trade, which I’d have had to find out how he even did that or what that even is, he had to be desperate or confident enough to use the real bunny for whatever he needed it for. Either way, that pointed to the Blood Moon being real soon. I was running out of time.
And a champion challenger was on the way. Name and context alone that would have been a heavy hitter the Regent sent out from his own pack to replace whoever he thought he needed to. I’d have to deal with that, too. Problems for another day. Being a lord was going to age me an extra thirty years, I could already feel it.
“Hwdrthy…!” The Baron spoke, now in tighter lines of gibberish as he began to wake up. The shifting in the bed was much more violent now as the giant metal ball attempted to bring his head upright. “Indthrbt! Shwlbemine!”
“Your Highest Majesty, please calm down!” The noble stepped back from the Baron’s round from. “We cannot replace the furniture again! The deposits of blue dye and wood are dwindling as it is!” Yay, low supplies. Just the kind of thing I would have loved to inherit when I won this city from these people.
“IwillbreakwhateverIneed!” His words were finally making sense, even if they were still slurred. “Iwillbreakwhoever I need! Do not question me again, Scribe, or you will be one of them. That cotton ball will be mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!” The bed cracked and bent with every slam of his hammy fists. Real charmer, this one.
“Please forgive my impertinence, Your Absolute Rotundness.” The Scribe, more than likely the master for that toll Wolf from before, cowered beneath his book. “Of course, you will have the bunny. We would be foolish to think otherwise. Perhaps you can use this time waiting for the Lord Dragonoak to leave to come up with a new--”
Interrupting the Scribe, the clanking of chains and creaking of metal resounded from behind us, signaling Hopper’s completion of her task, flawlessly done as always. As the front gate clicked and screeched open, the Baron hoisted himself up to look out the balcony with the Scribe, only to notice finally that I was standing nearby. Completing the armor, the Baron’s head was also adorned with a metal helmet, but with a distinctive charm on his head.
“Don’t stop on my account, please,” I said to them as they paused to comprehend the situation. “Say everything you were going to say. I wouldn’t want you dying with anything left on your conscience. What kind of Baron would that make me?”
29
“I’m only asking this question because it’s bugging the crap out of me,” I continued as the Baron and the Scribe both simply gawked at the audacity I was displaying. Tinker was still getting into position, and I had to buy her some time. “What is with all of the titles? You’re not even wearing a blouse right now, and what Lord of the Night would be sleeping during the time that he’s supposed to be lording?”
“You!” The Baron pawed the air to come to a sitting position as he fumed. “Scribe, you told me that our defenses were unbreachable!”
&
nbsp; “I assure you, Your Nebulousness, I have no idea how this cretin got in here.” The Scribe defended himself, both with arguments and with his book. “Your keep is guarded and impassable at all times. He should have been killed as soon as he was within eyesight of the posted guards.”
“Then it’s a good thing nobody saw me.” I shrugged. “That would have been an awkward conversation to have. Again, the titles? It’s a mouthful and a waste of time.”
“For your information, those are all titles he has collected from those he has slain!” The Scribe stood up, indignant at my question. “They are a display of his power over other nobles, and they are the indication that he is superior to all, most of all the likes of a Rabbit!”
“Alright, I got it!” I put my hands up. “No need to yell. It’s midnight, for crying out loud. People are sleeping, like your guards on the job.”
“I shall deal with this impertinent welp myself, Your Magnificence!” The Scribe dropped his book and put his thumbs into the frills on his chest, pulling out two rings tied to ripcords. Like a sea creature’s feelers, all of the frills on his suit retreated into it, streamlining his look immensely. From his sleeves, two miniature pistols popped out as he held them up high, looking down at me like we were in a western shoot-out.
“You’re not the only one with fancy--” was all the Scribe could say before he was pancaked to the ground, his knees folding and spine collapsing as Tinker’s ultra feather mallet slammed the noble on the back. The cracking and crunching mixed with the sloshing and slurping were grossly satisfying as Tinker stood up from her spot, satisfied in her destructive powers. She lifted the hammer back up, watching as the Baron turned his gaze to her.
“Hey, eyes over here, big guy.” I snapped my fingers to call the Baron’s attention, keeping Tinker as safe as I could. “I’m the one breaching your unbreachable defenses. Can’t say I’m terribly impressed with your Scribe’s definition of the word.”
“Yes, I must thank your slave for delivering punishment on my behalf.” The Baron turned himself back over to me, placing his elephant-like sabatons on the ground to stand. “And I must thank you for saving me the trouble of waiting for you to leave or die. As a reward, I will have the two of you stuffed after I eat you instead of eating your pelts.”
“Does that mean you accept my challenge, then?” I asked him as I heard the clashing and scratching of metal weapons from the fight far below us. “I would hate to have invaded your sanctum so easily only for you to turn me away.”
“If you wish to die, I will gladly kill you.” The Baron stretched his legs up, standing at about ten or so feet high. “But I reject the implication that you pose a threat.”
“Look, I don’t need you to be scared.” I pulled out my shotgun and pistol in each hand. “In fact, that’ll make this easier if you underestimate me. I just need to make sure that I officially get your stuff when I kill you. Would that happen?”
“Neither of us will have to worry about that when I dine on your flesh, pelt prince.” The Baron reached his hands up, grabbing for the chandeliers. “Perhaps then I will taste what makes you dream of lordship when other Rabbits gladly serve. Tell me, who have you bred with? I will need to eat those bunnies as well quickly before your blasphemous progeny infects the bloodline.”
“How about no?” I unloaded both the shotgun and the pistol into him, fire and lightning, as I made a mental note to have the healers look at my shoulders after this. Unsurprisingly, neither weapon did much damage but instead turned in opposite directions at right angles to burst into the walls on either side of the two of us. The armor glowed white at each impact as if a magic bubble around it had been pressed in by every bullet and pellet.
I thought we were friends again, magic! You’re back off my good side.
The Baron grabbed both the poles of the chandeliers, pulling them down as I quickly realized that they were not chandeliers, but giant maces. As soon as they went down, they cracked the ground as they fell, shaking the whole room so much I thought a small earthquake must have happened. The sumo knight chortled in his throat at my meaningless attempts to harm him.
“If you truly believe that was going to work, I pity you.” The Baron heaved one of the bejeweled ubermaces over one of his shoulders to show how strong he was. “Unlike the cripple, I will not be so easily defeated.” These Wolves downplaying my victory over the flying bullet-sponge was starting to irk me.
“I would hope not,” I said, looking around at the very little room I had to avoid those giant maces. “It’d be a little underwhelming if you were actually worse than one of your pack members. Talk about anticlimactic. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Only a fool looks forward to his own death, pelt.” The Baron took heavy steps toward me, dragging the mace on the ground along with him. “Did you talk this much while fighting the cripple? I’ve never heard of someone dying from words before. An interesting tactic, and one that will ultimately fail to kill me.”
“Honestly, I was just stalling until Tinker got into position.”
Having crawled up his back, Tinker slapped her hand on the Baron’s forehead, forcing the charm on it to glow as she ripped it off. The Baron flailed about, roaring as he flung both maces above his head to hit the bunny but missing as she jumped down to the bed, picking up her feather hammer as she went to look at it. Her face dropped as she realized what it was, while I picked up from her expression that the charm was a decoy.
The Baron turned himself around as his maces dragged along the ground, grinding the stone beneath them while he laughed. It sounded like he was choking, but not from lack of breath, but from something being lodged in there.
“That charm keeps my armor looking pristine.” The Baron loomed over Tinker. “But do not mistake my cheery tone for a lack of contemptful rage towards you. Without that to protect my armor, it’ll get scuffed when I splatter your blood all over it! How dare you!” He raised a mace over his head to slam down on her.
I reflexively jumped to kick at the Baron’s side. With a veil of white coming between the Baron and me right as I hit, my whole body launched backward like my foot had just spawned a rocket inside of it, damn near breaking the shin as I flew into the vanity behind me. My back bent over it, right on the corner, in what may have been the most annoyingly sharp pain I might ever have had in my life. Not the worst pain, just the most frustrating. You could have shown off a bullet wound, but a scar from furniture was just klutzy.
The mace above the Baron’s head fell to his side again, laughing his choking laugh again while he turned back around to me. As much as I was glad neither of us was being hit by those things, I already hated this battle more than Timberpine’s. I was thinking up ways to get that armor off while the armored Wolf stepped up to me.
“Have you learned nothing from your previous foolery, pelt?” He lifted one of the maces to the side. “I am invincible. You had no hope of defeating me as soon as you defied me. In fact, you were doomed as soon as you stepped through the doors to this city, thinking you were anything more than worthless. A slave who can’t obey must be thrown away. Even your pelt will be useless to me when I’m done with you.” And he called me chatty?
He raised his mace over his head again as I pinned my back to the wall. As he swung down, I leapt out of the way at the last possible moment I could. The mace crumbled the wall like a stack of wooden letter blocks, exposing the side of the wall and the roof over the Baron with the chain reaction of crumbling stone spreading up into the ceiling.
It was a painful reality to realize that the architecture he was destroying was going to be mine. Everything he would crash into was going to become my problem to fix later. Maybe I’d just abandon this top room of the tower to save myself the headache of trying to dodge brass wrecking balls while still trying to find a way to hurt this guy. Grabbing Tinker, I picked her up as we kept ourselves right in the safe spot between the noble lug and the mace heads he was swinging.
He was obviously using
charms, just like everyone who cheated at this dueling thing, including myself. I’d have admitted it, it was true. Charms are a very easy way to gain a very steep advantage against someone who didn’t have charms, especially if you didn’t let your opponent know what charms you had. The charm on his head was a decoy, just to get people to try to attack his head, which would have been done with hooks or with a pole from far away, thus forcing whoever he was fighting to get right in the range of his wrecking maces. The real charms protecting him were probably underneath the armor, on the underside. If every piece had one of these charms, we’d have been here all night, peeling him of his armor to get to him. But, charms get more and more unstable the more you put together, which meant he had to have only a few, or he’d have exploded already. If that was the case, it was just a guessing game of where those charms were. And even then, we couldn’t even touch him to get those charms off without bouncing away from that forcefield of his. Unless…
I grabbed Tinker’s mallet, ducking the two of us underneath a mace swing as I tapped the Baron with it, specifically without turning off the feather charm. The hammer bobbed on the white force field like a rubber ball and the white forcefield close to invisible in reflecting it. When the hammer stopped bouncing, it clinked right against the edge of the armor, touching it.
There it is. My bullets flew off at blinding speeds, my foot launched me back painfully, and the hammer barely bounced. If everything was flying around at those crazy speeds, I’d have died, and the hammer would have flown out of my hand. The forcefield directly reflects the impact strength of whatever’s hitting it. If there’s no forceful impact, there’s no forcefield to counter it. But that didn’t help us here. How were we supposed to not impact the armor at all when we were busy dodging mace swings?