The Last Benediction in Steel by Wright Kevin

Author:Wright, Kevin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-21T16:00:00+00:00

…that a melee broke out in the midst of the gathering. Hochmeister Gaunt, a giant of a man versus Arboleth, no less keen a weapon for his gray hame, came to blows before a great bale-fire. It seemed some sort of biblical battle of Jacob versus Esau, Gilgamesh versus Enkidu, the Archangel Michael versus…

—War-Journal of Prince Ulrich of Haeskenburg

Chapter 30.

SIR ALARIC WAS THREE SHEETS to the wind and dragging anchor across rocky shoals. At best. It was plain even in the gloom of the Half-King. Scrunched up against his table, his head rose, rheumy eyes squinting. “Huh?” He reached for his sword, found only empty scabbard, settled back when he saw it was me. “How’d you find me?”

“Wasn’t hard.” I eased the door shut. “Just followed the scent of impotence, desperation, and bitter disappointment.” I held two fingers up to Sweet Billie, toiling away behind the bar.

“An alluring scent.” Sir Alaric rubbed one eye. “Familiar with it?”

“Intimately.” I shook the wet from my cloak, folded it aside, took a seat. “Ask me about my wedding night sometime I’m drunker than you.”

“Hrrm… Unlikely to be anytime soon.” He chuffed a laugh, muttered to himself, took a swig of wine.

“How’s the jaw?” It was swollen a purplish-red.

He worked his jaw back and forth. “Clicks a bit.”

“Sorry about that.” I nodded thanks to Louisa as she set a couple of flagons down. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” He grimaced. “You don’t look much better.”

“Don’t want to outshine the boss.”

“Aye and for sure.” Sir Alaric held his bottle out to me. “Here.”

“Straight from the bottle?” I raised an eyebrow.

“The one great relief. Take a few pulls, I’ll look grand as Saint Peter.”

“Total bullshit, I’d imagine,” I wiped the mouth of the bottle, “but just to be safe,” I took a swig, swished, sloshed, swallowed, “cause I heard Saint Peter’s an easy ten.”

Sir Alaric grinned, his beard scraggly, nose purple-dark, eyes fighting for focus. “Better?”

I laid a hand to my heart, “Marry me.”

“Already spoken for.” Sir Alaric snatched back the bottle. “Besides … heard yer wedding night tactics need some work.”

“A bloody lie.” I puffed up my chest then deflated. “Ain’t just wedding nights.”

“Not overly,” he burped, “excuse me, reassuring.”

“Consistency should count for something.”

Sir Alaric looked set to keel over. “What’d I tell you the first day I saw you?”

“Well,” I screwed my eyes shut, “that was quite a while back.”

“Oooo…” Sir Alaric stretched out a leg. “Getting old.”

“You were reminiscing about my Uncle Charles. The good old days.”

“Nay. Piss on the good old days.” He wiped a hand down his face. “I damned-well told you to ship back out.” He sneered down, shaking his head, a palsied dog. “But you didn’t listen. She didn’t listen. No one ever listens…” He shook his head to himself. “But then, I’m an old geezer now and ain’t that the truth? By the hound, I still feel like a lad of eighteen summers in here.” He tapped his temple. “Just every time I wake in the morning, try to move, take a piss, a shit … I remember it then.

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