Metal Mage 12

by Eric Vall

  Admittedly, the man made a lot of good points, and as much as I tried, I couldn’t seem to find a solid counterargument. Still, a familiar feeling was stirring in my veins at the thought of my pregnant lover being more than a mile away from me, and I tapped my thumb against Shoshanne’s thigh while I considered this.

  “No, she’ll be safe with me,” I decided.

  “I did not say she would not be safe with you,” Dragir said in as calm a tone as he could. “However, she will be safer here.”

  “No, she’ll be safer with me.”

  Dragir crossed his arms. “What exactly makes you so sure?”

  I honestly had no response other than I couldn’t stomach the idea of being separated from her, but the feeling in my veins left no doubt in my mind that I would sooner tear a man’s jugular out than let any harm come to Deya.

  So, I just shrugged noncommittally and focused on the basics.

  “Three deadly women plus me equate to better protection,” I muttered. “We’ve got this. Eat your breakfast.”

  The elf furiously dropped down beside his silver tray, and I could tell by the way he muttered under his breath to Ruela that he wasn’t going to let this go any time soon.

  “Well, I’m already packed, so I’m going to make sure the infirmaries are handled,” Shoshanne chuckled into my ear. “Can I borrow the Mustang?”

  “You can borrow anything you like,” I told the woman.

  “Thank you,” the healer murmured. “Don’t leave without me.”

  “That would be impossible,” I assured her, and as Shoshanne giggled and headed for the entrance, I pulled a slip of parchment over to calculate how many of each type of magazine I’d need Dragir to complete while I was gone.

  Then I noticed Cayla had lingered behind to toy with a few scraps of iron beside me, and I cocked a brow as I looked over.

  “I take it you have something to say?” I guessed.

  Cayla shrugged.

  “Let’s hear it,” I chuckled.

  “I don’t know how to say it,” the princess muttered. “It feels so wrong, but I know I’m right.”

  I straightened up as I realized how concerned she looked, and I turned on my stool while I tried not to let my imagination run wild. Cayla rarely had complaints to make, though, so it was hard not to be a bit wary.

  “You can tell me anything,” I assured her.

  “It’s … it’s about the battle yesterday.”

  I nodded, and for a moment, I thought she might have come to her senses about me defending her and my unborn children like any decent man would.

  “Go on,” I calmly replied.

  “Do you remember when I was on Magehill, and you wouldn’t stop shooting down anyone who might get to me?” the princess asked.

  “How could I forget?” I muttered.

  “Something really frustrated me then, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it and … ” the princess bit her lip, but then she waved her hand and made to leave. “Oh, never mind.”

  I caught her and pulled her back to me, though.

  “Come on, I can tell it’s eating you up inside,” I chuckled. “Just say it.”

  “Okay,” Cayla said as she took a deep breath, and she blurted her next statement so quickly, the words all ran together. “Mason, something’s wrong with my 1911s, and it isn’t my fault, and you know how much I love your work, but I’m sorry, I had to say it. They’re broken.”

  The princess took a shaky breath as her porcelain cheeks turned pink, and I furrowed my brow.

  “Wait, this is about your pistols?”

  “Yes,” Cayla replied.

  “What happened?” I asked with an anxious frown.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” the princess insisted even though I hadn’t accused her of it. “I was firing the same as always, but it just … it didn’t work, and it’s not my fault. My vision was clear, and I could easily track the Master’s elves, but it didn’t matter how focused my aim was, my bullets kept missing their mark.”

  Dragir snorted from the floor. “If you think there is anything wrong with this weapon, then you are an imbecile.”

  “Dude,” I said sharply, but Cayla was already heading for the elf.

  “Call me an imbecile one more time,” the princess growled. “My pistol works perfectly fine at this range.”

  Dragir was ready to fight the woman right there as he tossed his apple aside and rose to his feet, but I quickly came in between them and brought Cayla further down the table while they glared at each other over my shoulder.

  “She’s not an imbecile, and she has a good point,” I informed the elf, and Cayla’s blue eyes flicked to mine.

  “Well, of course I do,” the princess replied. “But how do you mean in this case?”

  I smirked. “I mean about range. The further your target is, the more you have to adjust your aim to account for the distance.”

  “I know, I do that,” Cayla insisted. “It’s still not working.”

  I furrowed my brow as I gestured for one of her 1911s, and the princess handed it over so I could take a look. I let my metal magic seep into the makeup while I double checked every inch, but nothing was out of the ordinary.

  “Hmm,” I muttered. “Nothing seems off to me, but why don’t we go test them out in the woods? You can show me what the trouble is.”

  “Thank you,” the princess said curtly, and she headed for the door while I grabbed a couple magazines that hadn’t been engraved yet.

  Cayla still paused to send the metal dragon a wink, though, and then she glared at Dragir one last time before I shuttled her out the door.

  Once we were in the western woods, I left her to load the unruned magazines while I headed about fifteen yards out to form a target from softened stone, and I motioned to the princess for her to begin, but she rolled her eyes.

  “That’s not far enough,” Cayla informed me. “I can easily hit that.”

  “I know you can,” I chuckled, “but you said the pistols were the problem, so we’re testing them, not you.”

  The princess nodded in agreement as she set her stance and raised both 1911s, and then she sent two bullets into the softened stone.

  “Perfect,” I said with a shrug.

  “Always,” Cayla purred.

  “Now, I’ll move it to thirty yards, and--”

  “Further, Mason,” the princess huffed. “They work fine this close.”

  I hid my smirk as I raised the target off the ground and headed into the woods, and I set it down at a hundred yards.

  “There,” I called across the gap between us.

  Cayla fired once more, but when I turned to the target, there were only the same two holes, and I furrowed my brow.

  “Did you aim for the target?” I checked.

  “Yes,” the princess shouted. “I put them in the holes.”

  “You what?”

  “The holes!” she repeated. “I put the bullets in the holes!”

  “The same ones?” I muttered in disbelief, and I stared at the target with only two holes in it. “Damn.”

  Cayla just shrugged when I stared at her, and I promptly moved the slab of stone all the way out to two hundred yards. I kept my eyes on the target instead of the princess, though, and I sent my metal magic to scan the entire surface of the stone for good measure.

  When Cayla fired, I was positive her copper bullets passed through my magic, and I clutched my hair as I realized she’d managed to hit the exact same two holes.

  “Holy shit,” I laughed to myself, and I turned to holler at Cayla. “I don’t see what the problem is! You’re fucking perfect!”

  “I know I am!” the princess shouted. “The target’s too close! The elves were farther away when the guns wouldn’t work!”

  “Farther?” I sighed.

  I shook my head as I hauled the target off, and this time, I brought it all the way to three hundred yards because I really wanted to see what Cayla could do at this distance with only a
pistol.

  Then I waved my hands high above my head to signal her, and the princess fired once more.

  This time, two new bullet holes broke through the surface of the stone, and they were about six inches lower than the previous two.

  “Godsdamnit!” I heard Cayla curse to herself, and even though I had heightened hearing, she still shouted out to me as she threw her arms up. “There! I told you! They don’t work!”

  “You …”

  I propped my hands on my hips as I considered the target for a moment, and I honestly had never met anyone who could hold a candle to the princess, even with the six-inch difference.

  So, I just laughed for a moment before I jogged my way back to Cayla, and then I laughed some more when she held her 1911s out like they were trash now.

  “Cayla, the pistols aren’t broken,” I informed her.

  “Are you implying this is my fault?” the princess scoffed. “Because I am a perfect specimen, Mason, and you saw it for yourself. They don’t work right.”

  “I absolutely agree about the perfect part,” I admitted, “but based on what I saw, you should have still been hitting the elves at that distance. Were they moving at the time?”

  “They were, but I hit them,” Cayla said with a shrug.

  “Wait, you told me the problem was you kept missing your mark.”

  “Yes, the bullets didn’t hit the part of the elves I was aiming for,” the princess replied. “It was infuriating.”

  “Uh-huh … well, there’s a lot of factors that come into play with long range shooting,” I explained. “Namely, the drop of the bullet at this distance. Then you’ve got positioning of the sights and length of the barrel, and all of these things combined determine how accurate your aim is. Not just the person pulling the trigger.”

  Cayla nodded along, and when I finished explaining this, she handed her pistols over.

  “So, fix them,” she said. “I’m not using them like this. I expect my weapons to be as accurate as I am.”

  “That’s not …” I sighed as she cocked a brow, and then I gently pushed the pistols back toward her. “Keep them. They work perfectly fine in many other circumstances. I’ll figure this out, alright?”

  “And you’ll figure it out in a way that means I hit my mark every time exactly where I want it?” she clarified. “At a decent distance?”

  “Yes,” I assured her.

  Cayla smiled as she holstered her pistols, and she pulled me against her by the leather of my vest.

  “Thank you, Mason,” the princess purred. “I knew you would fix this.”

  Then the lethal woman kissed me until my palms were sweating and my knees were weak.

  When Cayla finally released me, she smirked seductively and strolled toward the mansion without another word, and I stood there staring at the way her thigh-high boots wove around each other in a perfect line with every step. My 1911s ticked side to side with the sway of her slender hips, and I swallowed hard when she shimmied her ass to adjust her gun belt at the last second.

  “You’re welcome,” I mumbled.

  Eventually, I crawled out of the erotic pit my mind had dove into, and I shuffled my way back to the house while I wondered if I could somehow have sex with Cayla while she killed my enemies. Maybe from behind, against a battlement, but the thrusting might throw off her aim, and she wouldn’t go for that.

  Unless I built her a tripod to mount it on …

  Dragir snorted when he saw the blank look on my face, and I blinked to find myself standing in the middle of my shop.

  “So, I was right,” the elf chuckled. “This weapon is perfect, and your woman is an imbecile.”

  I rolled my eyes. “My woman isn’t an imbecile, but she can definitely kill you from three hundred yards away, so I’d watch your mouth.”

  Dragir sobered a little at my words, and I sat back down at the table to finish my calculations.

  “The pistol is no good?” the elf asked in confusion.

  “Not for the kind of kills Cayla has in mind,” I muttered. “She’s been working on becoming a more long-range shooter for me lately, but the effective range for something like a 1911 with a woman like her pulling the trigger just isn’t going to cut it, apparently.”

  “Why?”

  “You probably heard me explain this all to her,” I pointed out. “Bullet drop, sight placement, all of that.”

  “Yes, but why all of that?” he asked again.

  “I’ll explain it to you some other time,” I chuckled. “Right now, I need to get to the station and check our troops’ status. It looks like I’ll need you to engrave about fifteen hundred lightning runes and twenty-five hundred fireball runes while I’m gone.”

  “And I get to keep the helpful man?” Dragir checked.

  “Sure,” I said and headed for the door, “as long as you keep working on these magazines, you can borrow Alfred, but don’t abuse the power. He’s irreplaceable.”

  “No, a helpful man should not be misused,” Dragir agreed. “This Alfred is a good one.”

  I chuckled as I left the house, but then I heard a sad little screech, and I looked over to see my metal dragon hopping down from the roof to the clearing.

  “Oh, hey, buddy,” I cooed as I came over, and I scruffed him under the chin. “Guess it’s that time, huh? I wish I could keep you here, but the Master’s already tried to rune the dragons again this week.”

  The dragon crouched lower as he nodded, and I could sense how torn he was. Part of him clearly wanted to do his duty like a good little pup, and knew he had to, but another part of him couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. Then I remembered how much of myself was instilled into his gem, and I nodded.

  “I get it,” I muttered. “If it makes you feel any better, there’s some baby dragons in Mors Pass that my women absolutely adore, and you’re the one whose gonna make sure those baby dragons are never harmed. You’re the women’s hero.”

  The dragon bucked up a bit at my words, and I could tell his sense of duty was surging at the thought.

  “That’s right,” I chuckled. “Most important job in the realm right now. No one can deliver on this one except you. It’s what you were created for, and I have total faith in you. We all do.”

  The metal dragon’s gem burned brighter as he gave a diligent nod, but then he leaned forward to nuzzle his nose against my chest, and I hugged his skull tight as I let out a sigh.

  “I’m gonna miss you, buddy,” I mumbled.

  It was kind of weird saying that to someone who was so much like me, but the bond between us was stronger than I’d experienced with any of my other automatons, except for maybe Stan, and the fact that the dragon probably knew me better than I knew myself counted for a lot, too.

  So, I hugged him as long as I damn well pleased, and I could sense he was sharing the moment.

  “Now,” I said gruffly, and I straightened up while I blinked back some confusing tears, “get on out there and show them how it’s done. And remember, no matter what happens, no one fucks with our dragons, do they?”

  The metal dragon let out a vicious, metallic roar as green flames burst forth from every orifice of his face, and the sight made me jump a few feet back as I yelped. Then my dragon launched himself toward the trees while his gem pulsed with a steely determination, and I watched him soar across Falmount as he let out another vengeful screech.

  Once he was gone from sight, I stood there for longer than I should have and stared at the empty sky, and my pulse was still chaotic after those last-minute flames.

  “Make us proud, buddy,” I sighed to myself.

  Then I shoved my hands into my pockets while I turned toward the lane, and I tried to shake the sense of melancholy I had all of a sudden. I hadn’t realized how attached I’d gotten to the dragon in the short amount of time he was at the mansion, but I knew this was probably to do with the bond we’d formed when I first connected with his gem. That dragon was like an extension of myself now, and the notion helped
me redirect my mood pretty quickly.

  It made no sense for me to pine and miss myself like this, so I cleared my throat, adjusted my slumped posture, and focused on the town to get back to reality.

  Right away, I saw something that shifted my gears completely: how legitimately awesome my newly armored Defenders looked roaming the streets.

  The breastplates and helms of their dwarven armor were expertly wrought from iron with a contrast of steel plating for the pauldrons and vambraces, but I could still make out their leather Defender gear underneath. With troops like this guarding the villages, the citizens of Illaria would be at ease in no time, and my chest swelled with pride as I realized I was the head of the Order who upped our game this much.

  Then I spotted something unexpected about the design, though, and I grabbed a passing mage to get a closer look at their breastplate.

  “Sir?” the man asked uneasily.

  “Sorry, just looking at your armor,” I muttered. “That’s platinum.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes,” I chuckled as I studied the crest at the center of his breastplate.

  The dwarves had meticulously etched an intricate, looping pattern within the iron, but mounted at the center was a strange design made of a series of platinum plates. Part of it looked like jagged mountains, but there was something else I couldn’t make out over top.

  “Those classy bastards used platinum for me,” I mused. “Gotta love the dwarves. Do you know what these symbols are supposed to be?”

  “Those are your initials, sir,” the man informed me. “See? M and F.”

  I squinted, and now I could tell the strange platinum symbols did in fact spell out my initials.

  “Well, that’s badass, but it’s not exactly appropriate,” I muttered as I looked at the guy. “I mean, you’re not mine, you’re serving the Order of the Elementa at this point.”

  “Under your leadership,” the man countered.

  “I guess,” I allowed. Then I smirked. “You know, it could just as easily stand for Mother Fuckers.”

  I couldn’t help chortling at the thought of my army marching toward the Master’s fortress like an epic pack of metal-clad mother fuckers, but the mage didn’t seem to get my sense of humor on the matter.

  “Never mind,” I snorted. “Carry on.”