Book 7, Chapter 16: A Little Ale For You
Outside, the air was thick with smoke and sweat and shit and the musky odors of animals, mixed with the sweeter smell of piss. This was war. Fear and defecating mixed with a lot too much death.
Still, it was the first time I’d been outside in a while. Past the smoke, the sky was clear, light grey clouds drifting by and I followed them with my eyes until scanning along the wall. Men sat, resting their backs against it. A few had their swords or daggers out, some bows, perhaps half or so were performing maintenance on them. Boys carried water up and down the stairs, here and there to troops. Some brought meals and I wondered if they’d been paid. I hoped organized.
A few soldiers watched us pass. My regular entourage of four soldiers and four special bodyguards, headed by Mestamir. This time, we were bolstered by two generals and an additional twenty spear and shield infantry. Yesterday, an annoying etiquette teacher tried to force lessons on me, today I’m the most important person in the city. It almost made me want to side with the nuns and destroy Laemacia.
The break in the fighting was because of our agreement to parley. I’d received the news after returning to the war room. The baddies had agreed, and they’d agreed to the suggested location of the inn straddling the old city wall.
I knew why I was going to talk to them. To glean whatever info I could, learn their goals and anything else I could squeeze from whomever they sent. But I didn’t know why they’d agreed. Presumably, what they wanted from me didn’t require consent, or they’d have sent the parley request first. But who knew with these people? The nuns were weird. They liked to bathe in inky water and drink poisonous flower wine.
My new generals weren’t happy about it. Not only because I’d created this parley, but because they wouldn’t be party to it. Hence their insistence that brown-haired Dareb and scared Sostram accompany me. I wondered if they thought I’d betray them and side with the nuns. Not a bad idea if they could get me to the Temple and help with the monsters.
I nearly tripped at the thought. It had been a while since otherworldly monsters, called into existence by our friendly Lovecraftian Others to attack either me or the mage, had shown up. They could be amassing monsters near the Temple. The thought made me curse Serce all over again for all these delays. And the nuns and their damned army.
We’d arrived at the inn. Old wooden structure, stones secured by mortar, even a crack in the wood mortared over, with a wide wooden front door. Or maybe this was the back door. I wasn’t sure. A sign above it, newly painted, was of a white unicorn on two legs, horn facing menacingly toward an unseen enemy.
I stopped. Everyone stopped. “Excuse me, can you see the horn on that, uh, equine?”
General Dareb looked surprised. “It’s a unicorn, my lady.”
“Oh, thank god. I swear I was . . . never mind. Let’s proceed.” I was going to say, ‘going crazy.’ For a second, I wondered if, against all reason whether only I could see the horn. Virgin and all that. Goddamn it, another battle and Morry wasn’t here with me. I needed him, now. Right now. His presence would calm me down. Or egg me on, most likely, to kill more of the enemy.
Maybe I should.
“You’re Majesty, perhaps I should accompany you? Or three of your bodyguards as per their request?”
“There’s no need.” I had both swords at my left hip, throwing knives all around my belt, and a flagon of whiskey in my chest pocket. I was as ready as I could be. Except, there was no whiskey, nor a pocket, probably for the best.
He straightened. Nodded. Looked at General Sostram, “Right. Of course.”
As I reached for the door, I paused. The main reason I didn’t want anyone accompanying me was because the enemy was almost certainly going to bring up what I could offer them, and that would make regular soldiers freak out. Or at least relay that to the generals, who would then freak out. But Mest and her group wouldn’t. In fact, it would only reinforce Mest’s ideas about me. And that could only help my position.
Looking back, I called to her, “Mest! Please accompany me and bring two, uh, friends with you.” I hoped I didn’t sound too bossy, but they’d volunteered their services. Well, been forced into it since birth and here I was, using that same awful system.
“Ma’am.” She nodded to two others and they practically lined up in front of the door.
I held it open for them, and everyone was uncomfortable for a moment, before Mest walked right in, stopped, looked around, before moving further in. Each of her companions did the same and when I entered, I also had to adjust my eyes to the dimmer inside light.
From smokey sunlight into smokey interior, the place was musky, smelling of old beer, which honestly wasn’t that different than the piss outside. I let the door close behind me. The three went around checking under each table, around the bar, even behind it, then back to me in the center.
“No one is here, my lady,” she said.
“Thank you. I imagine they’ll be along shortly.” Unless I’d been snubbed.
I could take a seat and wait, but . . . it had been a week or so. I walked behind the counter, found a pint glass and filled it up. Thick, dark brown, and heavenly! There’s nothing better than a beer after a bath, but in this case, it was nothing squared because of all that fighting. I drew seven more pints, setting one each in front of my bodyguards, who barely glanced at them, one raising an eyebrow, the rest on the counter for when my guests arrived. Then arranged a few mead bottles, corked by wax, around the place, on seats mostly and out of sight.
“Ma’am?”
“Oh, in case there’s a fight. You’ll know these are here, I’ll know these are here, but they won’t. Let’s call it improvisation. You end up behind a booth, weapon out of reach, throw a bottle at them.”
“Ah, very good.”
“Also, feel free to have some ale.” I took another sip. “It’s, wow, actually pretty good. I’d never have guessed that from the look of this place.” Like a thick English ale, but I kept that part to myself. I did not want to look haughty in front of the guards.
“Not just yet, my lady.”
I smiled at her and set my pint down. Yeah, bad idea. But I was full of bad ideas and some of them needed fruition. Honestly, I really should have been born a bartender instead of a princess. I wonder if that’d have been a calmer life.
The door opened on the far side, afternoon sunlight streaming in and, unusually, less smokey inside the pub than out. Shortly, the emissary from the garden, who’d fled as I cut down her soldiers opened the door, walking straight in, past the bar, and to my table.
Behind her, three soldiers wearing light summer clothing. No armor, but they carried swords at their belt, and one had throwing knives like I did. They looked around the same age as Mest, but their faces were pockmarked by small scars. A gash here, burn mark there, three claw-like marks on one. They looked similar to the assassin who attacked me so long ago, and that was a problem. They were trained with pain, Morry said. Chemical burns, flames, cuts, they could be tortured and would never reveal information.
They were also better at fighting than regular soldiers. I began to regret indulging in the ale.
“Good afternoon!” I decided to play the proper host, “Please, have a seat. Here, I’ve poured everyone an ale.” I set the ale down on the table in front of the bar, then set one for each of the heavily scared and unhappy looking killers she’d brought with her.
The lady bowed her head, “Princess Cayce. Well done on surviving the harem.” One of her guards pulled out the chair for her and she sat.
“Just so this meeting can happen.”
“I see. We were not aware you were so refined at combat.”
“That’s actually the one thing I don’t understand about you people.” Pulling out my seat, I sat in front of her. “Unlike those I am working with, you know I’m a goddess. You know what I can do, yet here you are. Why are you here? What is it you want? And why aren’t you praying that I don’t turn you all into frogs?”
“We would like your help with a different matter. Have you seen one of these before?” She reached into her pack and pulled out a lit oil lamp, the fire of which was nearly drowned out by the natural light streaming in through the windows, little dust particles dancing across the beams.
“Why, yes, yes, I have!” I clapped my hands together, “If I’m not mistaken, that’s an oil lamp.” I leaned forward as if to share a secret with her, “What kind of oil are you using? Rendered from tallow? Stolen from a whale perhaps? Or is there some oil-bearing monster I am yet unfamiliar with?”
“The lamp is unimportant, Empress, but this is. Here, please.” The woman placed a leather-wrapped parcel on the table, and the leather was glistening in oil. Unwrapping it, she carefully and slowly pulled the animal skin away from a strange candle holder. Its ebony base was perhaps thirty centimeters long, a foot in this land, with five candles held by the coils of a serpent with copper scales. Two deep red rubies were its eyes, its teeth and claws carved out of ivory.
Something about it made me feel wrong. Like I shouldn’t have mixed that giant Cohiba with the rum last night wrong. I tried to maintain my smile, “Well-made if a little grotesque.”
She said, “We no longer need,” taking a taper out from the bag, putting it in the oil lamp to light it, “to request your services. We,” and then brought it from candle to candle, “need only your bones.” The woman smiled, blue eyes locked onto my eyes, hers full of hope and fulfillment, wide, waiting.
I nodded, “It’s a nice candelabra,” and stood. Put my hands in the air, thumbs touching forefingers, “This was a little crazy. Not at all what I was expecting, but yes,” I shook my head from side to side, “what a lovely show and tell.”
Her eyes moved to the candles and she stared at them for a long time, watching, watching, yet there was no change. The flames remained orange, reaching into the air, burning wax for time on this planet. The woman looked up at me, “You are no longer a god.” She gestured at me and two of the others whipped out their swords, moving forward, the third drawing throwing knives.
Hand resting on my sword hilt, I looked into her pretty eyes and said, “The flame always knows.” And drew my sword across her neck before she could back up, cutting only to her jugulars.
Blood sprayed out, she grabbed her neck and sat right back down, trying to stop the bleeding, just as my own companions leapt forward, swords and daggers out and swinging.
The scared woman silently jumped recklessly at me, her sword aimed at my left arm. I deflected it away with my right sword, then slammed my elbow into her face. Falling, she reached out with her left arm to the table and I took hold of her sword arm, pulling her forward while pushing her face down with my right sword handle, and she smashed into the table, then one of my bodyguards stabbed through her spine, leaving her twitching.
A knife bounced off my chain, I put my arm up over my neck and face, turning around, and one cut across my left cheek. He smiled, then was impaled by Mest and she cut across his neck with her dagger.
Two of my bodyguards were fighting with the last, and he was easily holding them back, trading each parry for an attack. I tossed two knives into his neck, one above the other, and he didn’t stand long after that.
I briefly wondered why such skilled fighters would trade so much for so little when the world went slightly white, and I was all out of energy, feeling weak, dropped my sword and sat back down myself, but missed the seat and fell onto the ground.
A loud thump to my left, one of my bodyguards hitting the floor, too, the other trying to help him. “It’s poison,” shouted the man, “get healers!”
I couldn’t quite reply, a door slammed, and suddenly Mest was holding my hand, moving hair off my forehead, and I was hyperventilating, heart racing. “It’s poison, my lady! Healers are on the way!”
I tapped on her to get her attention.
“You must stay awake. Please keep your eyes open, my lady.”
My voice was rough, barely a whisper, but I managed to raise my arm and point at table, “Candles . . . out,” before my vision tunneled on her, my lungs screaming and body at me for air. Though I was breathing and breathing, and my heart pumped faster and faster, my body’s feeling was as if I was drowning.
Then the floor was hard, the piss smell waking me up. Not fun to be this close to the source. I sat up, feeling groggy and slightly angry, but as I breathed deeply and slowly, that went away.
“Ma’am?” asked a young man, one of Mest’s crew. He then called out urgently, loudly, at the door, “Ma’am!”
Mest came rushing through the door, kneeling beside me, “How are you feeling? The healer is almost here.”
“I’m good enough. Rough, but ok. What happened to . . . your companion, the man who was also cut?”
“He’s passed, I’m afraid. Are you sure you’re feeling well enough?”
Closed my eyes to adjust to the world, breathed, pushed off against the ground and stood, and the standing made me feel quite a lot better. “I’m ok. I must have received a lower dose of the poison.” Or, looking over to the table, the serpentine candelabra out, it was because Mest put out the candles. Unless that was me recovering from cyanide, and it really felt like it sans the almond taste since I wasn’t getting oxygen in, those candles held some power over my kind.
The woman certainly expected something untoward to happen to me. I needed to learn more about these, but a test seemed like a terrible idea. It looked like the mage and I were having one more discussion this day.
The healer, her once white robes caked in blood, even yellow in parts, stood in the doorway, and we got to explanations, “I’m ok, I’m ok, thank you for coming,” then double checking that we hadn’t missed anything at the inn, searching the bodies, someone putting full mead bottles back, I snuck a few more sips of ale since ethanol utterly destroys any and all poisons as everyone knows, especially the godly kind, and then headed for the wizard.
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