Metal Mage 11

by Eric Vall

  The servant curtsied before she hurried away, and Temin returned to the great hall in much higher spirits as he addressed the lingering nobles. I bit my cheek so I wouldn’t laugh as he ordered them all to leave immediately, and he didn’t bother putting up any fronts. He motioned for Haragh to haul in the barrel of Rosh as a swarm of servants rushed by, and before the nobles were gone, their chairs were already removed.

  In a matter of minutes, a stately table with ornate dining chairs was arranged at the head of the hall, and Haragh’s eyes went wide at the sight of the adorned cutlery and silver platters being laid out across the burgundy linen.

  The king made a few additional orders here and there to make sure every detail was addressed, and it took three male servants to heave our barrel onto a gilded drink cart.

  “See that?” I chuckled proudly. “Nothing but the best.”

  Haragh flashed a broad grin as he straightened his vest, and he strolled over to the table like it was his own castle tonight. Temin insisted he take the seat at the head of the arrangement, and the servants already had three golden goblets brimming with Rosh when I sat across from the king.

  Temin let out a long, harried sigh while he clutched his goblet with two hands, and he looked down into his bubbling Rosh like it was holy water.

  “Go on, Temin,” I said with a nod. “It’s past time you relaxed a little. For Haragh.”

  The king chuckled before he took a long swig, and Haragh happily downed his entire goblet while I did the same.

  Then I casually reached over and tipped the king’s cup so he had to finish the entire goblet, and all of us had five heaping goblets in us by the time the chefs brought out seven covered dishes and arranged them along the table.

  “Damn, that smells good,” I hiccupped. “What are we having?”

  “The best, of course,” Temin chuckled, and with a wave of his hand, the chefs removed the coverings to reveal heaping, steaming, savory piles of chicken wings.

  Temin’s kitchen staff must have taken it up a notch since I’d first introduced the dish, though, because every plate of wings was seasoned differently. Some were glazed in honey or heavily peppered, and I smelled garlic, butter, and ale mingling amongst the many platters. Then I clutched the edge of the table as I took a thorough sniff.

  “Is that … ranch?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir,” a servant replied. “Tonight, we have prepared an array of dipping options including ranch, lemon zest, hot sauce, duck sauce, beer sauce … ”

  Haragh clutched my arm as the servant went on and on, and more dishes kept arriving until the banquet table was covered with every kind of wing and sauce this realm could possibly come up with. Then the servants added plates loaded with mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, and what looked like the fanciest version of mac n’ cheese I’d ever seen. There were little green flowers dotting the top and everything.

  Haragh unbuttoned his vest to prepare himself while I tried not to salivate all over the table, and eventually, the servant finished explaining the extensive menu.

  “Fuuuck, yes!” I groaned.

  The servant looked a little taken aback by my sudden outburst, but the king grinned.

  “He means thank you,” Temin chuckled. “We’ll take another helping of Rosh, if you please.”

  I piled my plate with four different types of wings before I spooned a dollop from every sauce within my reach, and Temin finished his next goblet. He had a silly grin on his face as he loaded his own plate up as well, and I was happy to see him already drunk enough to relax.

  I was beyond tipsy by this point, and Haragh seemed pretty close to buzzed for once, but this was probably because he’d been drinking two goblets for every one of mine.

  “Gods, it’s been years since I had Rosh,” the king sighed, and his words were slightly slurred. “It seems fitting that we indulge a bit in honor of … well, the only ogre I know.”

  “You’ll meet Taru soon enough,” I mumbled through a wing. “She’s a real sweetheart, but she can rip a man’s arms off, too.”

  “She sure can,” Haragh chuckled. “And I know it sounds like I’m bein’ biased, when I say she’s the scariest, sweetest, most vicious, and all-around beautiful ogre there is, but I’m not.”

  “Hands down,” I agreed. “She puts Grot’s women to shame, man. I mean that.”

  Haragh raised his glass to me, and half our drinks ended up on our wings, but it honestly only improved them at this point.

  “How did the two of you meet?” Temin slurred.

  “It was magical,” the half-ogre informed him.

  “Fire everywhere, lava … it was beautiful,” I added. “They killed some shit together, and Temin, he made her a ruby that’s bigger than your head. Twice as big.”

  The king lowered his goblet, and he looked deeply impressed.

  “That is magical,” he agreed.

  “It was,” Haragh snickered. “First night I talked to her, she pulled a wyvern’s brainstem out through his mouth in one pull. That’s when I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”

  I grinned. “You’re a sweet guy, you know that?”

  “So sweet,” the king said with a nod. “But I have to ask, while we’re on the subject … Mason, how is it that you have so many women? I’ve always been confused by this. I have no time for any women, but you somehow have time for so many women. You go all over the place, but you have these women. There’s no logic in it. No time.”

  “Temin … what?” I demanded as I slammed my goblet down. “You don’t have time for wom--you’re the fucking king! There’s always time for women!”

  “Especially when ye’ got four,” Haragh snorted.

  “Five,” I snickered, but when the half-ogre’s eyes widened, I just continued. “Temin, you gotta enjoy being king. I’m only a baron, but I’ve embraced the fuck out of my life, and let me tell you … it’s good. Fantastic, actually. I don’t even care that my town keeps getting attacked by possessed assholes. It’s still my town, isn’t it? I’ve still got my women around. Still kicking ass … ”

  “And you’ve got a castle,” Haragh reminded Temin.

  “A whole castle!” I agreed. “Fill it with women, Temin. What else do you have to do?”

  “Declare a war that will inevitably end either my life or my reign,” Temin drawled, and Haragh and I sobered up a bit.

  “Dude … no,” I countered, but I took another minute to develop my argument further. “Some wars might go that way, but not this one. This one, we’re gonna fucking win, and you’re gonna be the king who brought Illaria through to the other side."

  “I don’t think so,” Temin said with a tired sigh. “I’ve never declared war in my life. Never. In fact, I go to extreme lengths to avoid having to. This is why half the citizens despise me. They say I have no backbone, and to be perfectly frank, I don’t. Wars are expensive. They take money, assets, lives … they’re not a good idea, and I don’t want to have a war in my nation. I want peace. I want people to be happy. That’s all.”

  “Sometimes you’ve gotta fight for peace,” I mumbled into my goblet, and I drained it down before I continued. “All the negatives are still there, sure, but what’s your other option? Let the Master be an asshole? Let him round up your citizens and force them into servitude?”

  “So, you see my predicament,” Temin snorted. “There are no good options. I must resign myself to my fate, and either I’ll be skewered, and my head will be mounted on the battlements, or I’ll be driven from my kingdom by an angry mob.”

  “Or,” I cut-in, and I got up to fill the king’s mug until it was practically overflowing, “you declare war, we kick ass, the Master is destroyed, and your people’s faith in you is restored because now they know that when all hell breaks loose, you’ll do what it takes to make sure your nation survives.”

  “It sounds valiant when you say it like that,” the king chuckled.

  “He’s a valiant man,” Haragh said with a nod.

&n
bsp; “I’m not valiant,” I snorted. “I’m up front. I tell it like it is. That’s honesty.”

  “No … you’re valiant,” the king countered, and he waved his goblet drunkenly. “You face death and somehow have time for all of these women. That’s valiant. How do you just face death so often? I can’t fathom it. Do you enjoy risking your life?”

  “I don’t enjoy it,” I replied, and I thought on the topic while I gnawed on a chicken wing. “Honestly, I’m only about to die every once in a while. More often than I’d like, but when it does come to that, it’s usually because I’m trying to do the right thing. If no one’s around to get it done, I’ll do it, and then at least if I die, I’ll die knowing I was the guy doing the right thing.”

  I shrugged as I finished my Rosh, and when I lowered my goblet, the king was staring hazily at me.

  “Valiant,” he slurred after a moment, and he spilled Rosh on Haragh as he nudged his arm. “Am I right? That was valiant.”

  “It was,” the half-ogre agreed. Then he took the king’s crown right off his head and tossed it across the table. “Here. Put it on. Ye’ earned it.”

  “Dude, I can’t put on the king’s--”

  “Do it,” Temin urged. “Let’s see! I bet it looks good on you.”

  I let out a long, drunken snort as the two men nodded and drank from their goblets, and then I fumbled to reach the crown before I plopped it down onto my head.

  “It’s perfect,” Temin slurred. “Take it. The job’s yours. I am going to find some women instead, and you can be king.”

  “No,” I mumbled as I steadied my weight against the table. “No, you’re gonna keep this crown and go find women, because that’s having your cake and eating it, too.”

  “What?” Haragh snorted. “That makes no sense.”

  “It makes sense sometimes,” I countered. “I don’t know when, but I’ve heard it before, and it made sense then. Maybe it doesn’t make sense now, but the point is … you’re a king, Temin. Be king. Get women. Do both.”

  “I need to do both,” Temin chuckled. “I’m about to die in a war, and I have no heirs. Not one.”

  “Me neither,” I sighed heavily. “But I’ll tell you what, I’m not giving up, and neither are you. We’re gonna have heirs by the end of the year, or break our dicks trying. That’s a pact right there.”

  “Hold on,” Haragh said as he straightened up. “I’m the lucky one right now! That never happens. I’m the one with an heir. Holy shit.”

  “Hell yeah, you are,” I chuckled. “You’re gonna be a dad, and that’s what’s up right now. So, Haragh, we salute you, man.”

  Temin nodded as he actually saluted the half-ogre, and Haragh saluted him right back.

  “I feel as if we were travelling down a darker path just now, though,” the king mumbled, and he stared off across the room while his eyelids drooped. “Something … negative.”

  “Right, war,” I reminded him. “Look, I’m gonna serve it up straight, okay? We might go to war, Temin, and that’s more times we might die, but that’s also more times we might not die, and at the end of that … we’re valiant, right?”

  “Exactly.” Haragh nodded.

  I nodded, too. “Exactly.”

  Temin began chuckling, though, and then his chuckles turned into drunken laughter, so we all ended up laughing our asses off while we choked on our Rosh. Eventually, the king’s goblet was empty again, and when I grabbed it to fill it up, he let out a long sigh.

  “Alright,” Temin announced. “We might die. That’s less upsetting now, for some reason … probably because Defender Flynt has taken it upon himself to make it so, but I can accept the circumstances.”

  “Good,” I said, “because death’s only a maybe right now, Temin.”

  “Life’s equally maybe,” Haragh added with a sage nod.

  “Extra maybe in your case,” I pointed out. “Because baby.”

  Then we all toasted to our very drunken logic as a few guards entered the hall, but I missed whatever it was they talked to Temin about because I was scouring the table for a new sauce to try. I ended up combining two very spicy looking options on one wing, and while the end product scalded its way to my gullet, I noticed the new dwarven swords the guards were wearing.

  “Hey, do you guys duel?” I asked out of nowhere, and the nearest guard smirked.

  “We’re trained in all manner of combat, sir,” the man replied.

  “Temin, we should get these guys dueling,” I decided. “All of them. Pick your fighter. Winner gets Rosh. Loser … keeps trying until he gets Rosh. Wings for everyone. This is happening.”

  “Yes,” the king said without skipping a beat. “Sir Marin, gather the men. Dueling in the great hall will commence immediately.”

  Soon, the great hall echoed with the clatter of armor as the majority of the castle guard marched in, and Temin drunkenly laid out a few ground rules while clarifying there was Rosh present, and whoever won a duel could have some. Then the first pair of knights came together at the center of the room, and I called dibs on the biggest one before Haragh even opened his mouth.

  My fighter obliterated his in about two minutes, and I was so amped I gave the victor three goblets of Rosh just to rub it in Haragh’s face. I didn’t remember many specifics after that except we yelled a lot, goblets were slammed against tables, everyone lost their shit, and within an hour, the guards were all drunk.

  Haragh, Temin, and I vehemently egged on our fighters regardless of whether they needed goading or not, but eventually, I ended up paying a couple guards to let us have their chainmail. That’s how I found myself in the middle of a crowd of roaring drunk knights facing off with the half-ogre, and we chortled beneath our helms as we fumbled to unsheathe our swords.

  Temin was busy chatting up a pair of servants who were blushing and giggling nonstop, and I was about to clarify I was too drunk for an all-out duel when Haragh took his first swipe.

  The steel of his blade clashed so hard with mine that my arm went numb, and I hissed as I stumbled back and tried to sober up enough for this.

  “Godsdamnit,” I growled, and Haragh came at me with everything he had as the knights pounded their staves against the marble floors and goaded us on instead.

  Thanks to my training regimen with Big Guy, I was actually able to hold my own against my giant green friend, and I even managed to catch him off guard and topple him a few times. It was a sloppy match while we wavered between laughing our asses off and belligerently insulting one another, but when all was said and done, neither of us could beat the other. The knights insisted we could end this outright, but the weight of the chainmail had us panting like dogs while we took our last lazy swipes, and finally, we just gave up altogether.

  The hall erupted in raucous cheers as Temin finally noticed we were dueling, and he clapped for no one in particular while the servants giggled and refilled his goblet for him.

  Then I collapsed hard into my chair as I tore my helm off, and Haragh was laughing heartily as he did the same.

  “I won,” the half-ogre decided, and if I wasn’t already chugging my Rosh, I would have delivered a firm rebuttal.

  Instead, I drained my goblet and propped the king’s crown back on my head, and Haragh rolled his eyes as I chuckled shamelessly.

  Most of the knights were feasting on wings and Rosh by now with a few belligerent arguments breaking out here and there, but I was surprised to find myself getting a second wind. Then I remembered my healing rune was eternally watching my back, and I grinned as I realized the room wasn’t even spinning anymore.

  For once, Haragh was drunker than me, and the king was blitzed as he downed another goblet of Rosh in half the time. He looked more relaxed than he had since we met, and despite how many blushes he got out of those two servants, he was a damned gentleman about it.

  He complimented their smiles, remembered things they’d each done around the castle that they never expected he would notice, and he didn’t even drunkenly promote them f
or laughing at his jokes. He was top-notch all around, and I could hardly believe he never went for women because he thought he didn’t have the time. Hell, half the duchesses I’d met at that meeting last week would have swooned on the spot if they saw him this relaxed, and I chuckled as I refilled my mug and watched the servant girls blush a little more.

  The king was a good dude, and I was happy we were friends.

  Haragh was working his way through his sixth heaping plate of wings when I rejoined them, and he sent me a broad grin as he raised his goblet.

  “Hell of a party,” the half-ogre chuckled. “Thanks for making me show up uninvited at a castle. That’s a definite first for me.”

  “Anytime,” I hollered above the noise of the knights. “You’re gonna be a hell of a dad, though.”

  “What if I sit on it by accident?” he asked, and I was choking through my laughter when the crowd suddenly quieted down by a degree.

  Then I turned around, and a trio of sober guards were escorting a beautiful woman in a long black dress through the hall of knights.

  The Baroness drew the eye of every man in the room as she sauntered behind the guards, but when her two-toned eyes found mine at the head table, they stayed there as a coy grin came to her lips.

  I flipped back around in my seat to find Haragh draining his glass and eyeing me with a loaded look, and I swiped the sweat from my brow that had been there since our duel.

  “Your Highness,” a guard said as he approached the king. “Baroness Batanova has come seeking an audience with you.”

  “Baroness Batanova?” Temin asked with alarm, and he frantically dabbed at his brow and smoothed out his robes. “Y-Yes, bring her forward. Shit.”

  Both Haragh and I were silently snickering over his reaction, but when the Baroness appeared beside me, we both forced a more appropriate demeanor.

  “Your Majesty,” Nulena purred as she dipped into a graceful bow. “I have come to discuss the recent attack in Rajeen, but I see I have chosen an inopportune time.”

  “My deepest apologies, my lady,” Temin said, and he bowed so low, his nose almost dived into a dish of ranch. “I in no way intended for you to be subjected to such a drunken display, and I assure you--"