“Ah, Eldrick, my friend. Please join me in a toast,” said King Henry, who appeared to already be drunk at the midday hour.
Sir Eldrick bit his lower lip, knowing that he could not refuse the king’s invitation, but also knowing that he could not accept.
“Hello, Henry,” he said, joining him by the bar.
Henry handed him a glass and raised his own, trying but failing to focus on Sir Eldrick. “To a life well lived, and children to continue your legacy,” he said, and to Sir Eldrick’s relief, he did not wait for a clink of glasses before tossing his drink back.
Sir Eldrick put down his full glass.
“What brings you here?” Henry asked, putting an arm around Sir Eldrick and leading him to the sitting area amidst mountains of bookshelves.
“Well, we begin the tour soon, and I just wanted to see you once more before…”
“Ah, yes, the tour. A great morale booster that will be. Haha, the commoners don’t mind paying taxes when their hero saves their asses from obliteration, now do they?”
“I guess not—”
“Cheers!” said the king, and he tossed back another drink.
“Henry…my liege…how are you?” said Sir Eldrick, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it was a mistake.
“Huh, what do you mean? I am as right as rain, as fit as a fiddle, as bouncy as a lass’s breastesess beneath the Maypole. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know…I’m sorry. It’s just…I don’t know.”
“To tell you the truth,” said Henry, leaning in, “I could do without these blasted doctors and magi telling me to let up on the red meat and wine. A bunch of down-bringers they are.”
“Trust me,” said Sir Eldrick with a fake laugh, “I know what you mean.”
“Anyway…ah, yes, the tour. It begins shortly, does it not?”
“It does,” said Sir Eldrick.
“Ah, that will be something to see. Do you remember when we were nearly killed by the Giant of Calamity? You and I?”
Sir Eldrick laughed at the memory. The army had been devastated by the giant’s assault, and Sir Eldrick had rushed back to the forward camp to protect the king. He found Henry in the beer tent, guzzling dwarven port.
“When you found me,” said the king, “I was half a gallon into that sour dwarven ale. You suggested rum instead, and we kicked that giant’s ass.”
“That we did,” said Sir Eldrick, though he had been the one to do the deed while the king snored away only feet from where the giant fell.
“Those were the good ole days,” said the king, raising his glass.
Sir Eldrick nodded agreement, and the king suddenly passed out, spilling his wine in the process.
“My liege…Henry?” He leaned over the coffee table between them and shook Henry, but he just started snoring.
Sir Eldrick took a knee beside the king, and in his ear he said, “I will protect your family with my life, now and forever.”
He left Castle Winterthorn at one ‘o’clock in the afternoon and found the nearest pub, a place called The Seamen’s Harpoon. The Harp, as regulars were fond of calling it, had once been one of his favorite haunts. He ordered a shot from the barkeep, a man named Mervin who had pocketed a fair amount of coin from the knight. Mervin was more than happy to oblige, and he left the bottle with Sir Eldrick.
Sir Eldrick sat there, shot in hand, bottle waiting to be emptied, and watched the clock as he thought of the past. He smiled when he remembered the adventures he had been on with the king and his brother knights of Vhalovia, and he frowned when he thought of his affair with the queen. He thought of Murland, Brannon, Gibrig, and Willow, and he chuckled so hard to himself at times that those nearby must have thought him drunk indeed. Sir Eldrick found himself eager to see his newest companions again. His mood shifted, however, when he thought of the king’s sickness. He didn’t trust the wizards, witches, and spirit healers that the king had in his employ, and he knew that the king didn’t either—death vow or not. There was surely something that Sir Eldrick could do for the king, and he determined to try and find a cure.
Come closing time, he hadn’t drunk a drop, and flicking a coin at Mervin, he turned from the bottle and merged into the street.
Chapter 3
The Greasy Spoon
“Order up!” Gibrig yelled.
“Ye gots to be kidding me!” said Hagus, adjusting his eye patch and wiping the sweat from his brow.
“What can me be sayin’, Pap?” said Gibrig. “Everybody be wantin’ Haley’s Dimples.”
Hagus happily shook his head and went back to work behind the grill. In the three weeks since they had been back, Gibrig and his father had decided to open a restaurant. It was Hagus’s brainchild, for he had known that there would be money to make off Gibrig’s new title, so a mere two weeks after they had returned, The Spoon o’ the Champion o’ the Dragon had opened its doors. Granted, the restaurant was nothing but an old renovated barn, and it still stank of hogs and grain, but the swelling crowd of dwarves along with human, elf, and ogre traders seemed not to mind at all. Hagus referred to the rustic look, feel, and smell as “a bit o’ the authentic experience.”
It seemed that people agreed, for they came in droves.
Gibrig, not wanting to butcher so many animals, had agreed to help his father with the restaurant on the condition that he could concoct a vegetarian dish that would satisfy even the biggest pork-loving dwarf. Hagus had been hesitant, but agreed to let his son try. What Gibrig came up with after only one night was a concoction of bread crumbs, garlic, herbs, and onions mixed into a soy patty with a generous amount of fennel to give it a sausage flavor. He had named it Haley’s Dimples, after his late aunt, and it had been an instant success. For sides, they offered smashed potatoes with garlic butter, bacon bits, and chives (though Gibrig was working on a bacon substitute made from turkey), along with steamed carrots, green beans, corn on the cob, cheese, bread, and gravy.
The money rolled in, but that didn’t keep Hagus from complaining about the “thieving soy merchants” and promising that next year they would dedicate an entire field to the crop.
King Dranlar even ate at The Spoon once a week, and it seemed that indeed, he had gotten over Gibrig and Hagus’s transgressions. Hagus didn’t trust the dwarf king’s jovial manner and warned Gibrig to be on his guard around Dranlar. But Gibrig had given him a dragon tooth, and the influx of tourists coming to the Iron Mountains to see the champion and his golden shield had given the kingdom a huge economic boost. To Gibrig, the trouble with the king was in the past. Indeed, he even found that he liked the dwarf who had once sent him on a suicide quest.
Life was good for the champion of the Iron Mountains, but at night, when the hustle and bustle of the busy restaurant had died down, Gibrig was plagued by terrible nightmares. He saw the portal that Drak’Noir had emerged from, and it beckoned to him. In more than one dream, he had stepped through the glowing portal at the top of Bad Mountain, but he always woke up before he saw what was on the other side. Gibrig woke up in a cold sweat most nights, for when he wasn’t dreaming about the portal, he was dreaming about poor Gillrog trapped in the great In-Between. He wondered often whether his visit to the Mountain in the Clouds had been real or not. It had seemed as real as the living world at the time, but with every day that came and went, the memory of the experience began to take on a dream-like quality.
“Hello, Gibrig,” came a sweet voice that shook him from his daydream.
He turned from the table he had been serving and found three dwarf lasses blinking and blushing at him.
“Hello,” he said, glancing around. “We’re full up right now, but if you would like, I can seat ye outside on the lawn. It be a good day for eatin’ outside.”
“We didn’t come to eat,” said one, and her friend giggled and elbowed her playfully.
“Well, maybe we could eat something,” said another of the three, looking Gibrig up and down hungrily.
“I…uh…wel
l…uh,” Gibrig stammered.
The lasses giggled, and one ran a hand down his chest. “Ye be so tall and sweet. Like a cold glass o’ lemonade on a hot summer day,” she said, moving closer.
Gibrig felt his cheeks getting hot, and he smiled stupidly as he glanced around to see who was watching. Then he froze, for Annabelle Ironstrike and her father had just come through the door, and the daughter of the blacksmith was looking his way.
“So, do you offer dessert?” one of the dwarf girls was saying.
“Huh…ah, what?” said Gibrig dreamily, and without another word he floated across the room to greet the blacksmith.
“Hey!” said one of the flirting lass behind him, but Gibrig hardly heard her, transfixed as he was with Annabelle’s beauty.
“Hello, hello,” said Gibrig as he grabbed a place setting for the two. He turned to a couple of old dwarves who had long ago finished their meal, saying under his breath, “This one be on the house if ye get on a goin’.” He turned and smiled at the blacksmith, unable to meet Annabelle’s eyes.
“Good afternoon, Master Hogstead. Or should I call ye Champion?” said Hammar Ironstrike.
Gibrig laughed affably. “Nah, ye can just call me Gibrig. Gib if ye like.”
“I’d like to see that shield o’ yers up close some day, if ye don’t be mindin’,” said Hammar.
“Would be me pleasure.”
“Is it true that only ye can lift it?” said Annabelle. And for the first time Gibrig looked into her eyes.
Big mistake…
Gibrig stared, and stared, and stared, which caused a big smile to slowly grow across Annabelle’s face, only making her more beautiful.
“Cat got yer tongue, lad?” said Hammar.
“What? Er, no, we ain’t got no cat tongue. But I know a human lass named Ling Ling who makes a good one.”
Hammar looked to Gibrig with concern and put a hand on his shoulder. “It be alright, lad. I seen that look before.”
“Ye have?” said Gibrig, worried that he had offended the blacksmith.
Hammar nodded gravely. “Ye gots that PQSD, ain’t ye?”
“PQSD, sir?”
“Post-quest stress disorder. I seen it a hundred times before. If ye ever want to talk ‘bout it, well, I can relate. I fought alongside yer father and the late King Bonesteel ye know, and I ain’t a stranger to haunted dreams.”
“Oh, well thank ye,” said Gibrig. Making sure not to look at Annabelle, he led them to the table that the old-timers had just exited and hurriedly cleared it for them.
“Gib! I be needin’ ye in the kitchen!” his father called.
Gibrig nodded to his father and laid the place settings on the table. He excused himself, steeling one last glance at Annabelle, who was smiling brightly at him.
“What’s up, Pap?” he said once he had reached the kitchen.
“We be outta soy again. Man the grill while I track down that no-good merchant.”
“He ain’t gonna sell us no more until we pay for the last batch,” Gibrig reminded him.
“Oh, he’ll sell alright. The bastard done raised his prices on soy once we started sellin’, and if he thinks he be takin’ Hagus Hogstead for a fool, he gots another thing comin’!”
Gibrig did as he was told, and he snuck a glance at Annabelle every chance he got, but by the time his father returned, the good blacksmith and his daughter had finished and left.
Gibrig woke up early the next day and prepared himself for another long day at the restaurant. But when he sat down for breakfast with his father, he was delighted to learn that Hagus had decided that they would take the day off and go fishing instead.
“There be a new fishin’ hole I been wantin’ to try out,” said Hagus between spoons of gruel.
“People ain’t gonna be none too happy that we ain’t openin’ today,” said Gibrig, never one to want to anger anyone.
“Bah, they’ll get over it. Besides, even a champion deserves a day off once in a while. Ye be goin’ on tour soon, don’t be forgettin’. Only the gods know how in the hells I be gettin’ along with ye gone though.”
“I could just tell them I can’t go,” said Gibrig.
“Nonsense, it be yer duty. Besides, I be sure ye wantin’ to be seein’ yer friends again.”
“I have missed them, and it has only been a few weeks.”
“Aye, I’d go with ye, but the restaurant can’t function with both o’ us gone. Don’t ye worry, Gib, Annabelle Ironstrike be lookin’ for a little work, and she’s a hard worker just like her father and brothers.”
“Annabelle…” said Gibrig, his mouth so wide that his food almost fell out.
Hagus eyed his son knowingly and adjusted his eyepatch. “Ye got the hots for the lass, ain’t ye?” he said with a wry grin.
Gibrig felt himself blushing and looked shyly to his food. “I guess ye could be sayin’ that. But, well, Pa, she be sooo beautiful, I can hardly talk to her without tripping over me tongue.”
Hagus gave a merry laugh. “I be knowin’ the feelin’, lad. Was exactly how I done felt ‘bout yer ma.”
“Really?”
“Aye, she was the prettiest lass I ever done seen.”
“How did ye work up the courage to talk to her?”
“I ain’t for knowin’, lad, but good thing I did, else ye wouldn’t be here,” said Hagus with a laugh. “Fret not, Gibrig me boy. Ye done faced a dragon; a pretty lass should be no problem after that feat.”
“I don’t know,” said Gibrig with all seriousness. “I think Drak’Noir was easier.”
“Well, ye’ll get plenty o’ time to work up yer courage. Hammar has invited us to eat at his place tonight.”
“What!”
“Aye, remember he wanted to inspect that shield o’ yers? And ye need to prepare Annabelle to take yer place while ye be gone.”
“Oh boy,” said Gibrig with growing anxiety.
“Just be yerself, lad, and everythin’ll work out just fine.”
That night they arrived at the blacksmith’s house an hour before sundown. Hammar and his family were mountain valley dwarves as well and lived a few miles away, nearer to the Western Door to the Iron Mountains. Gibrig and Hagus were met at the door by Hammar’s wife, Ruby, a plump, pretty dwarf in her mid-forties who had only a short, braided beard tied off with a blue ribbon at the bottom. Hagus had brought a bottle of homemade wine, which Ruby took happily, and she even kissed Gibrig on the cheek when they were introduced.
“Oh, and ye’ve brought yer shield,” she said as she led them inside. “Hammar is goin’ to be so excited. I’ve had to listen to him wonder ‘bout that shield for a fortnight, I have!”
“I be glad to show him,” said Gibrig.
Just then, three young strapping dwarves with arms like oak tree branches came rumbling and tumbling down the stairs, pushing each other and laughing. One of them had been the victim of a bad wedgie, for his underpants were bunched up and sticking out of the back of his trousers. When they reached the bottom, they stopped and stared up at Gibrig, and a cheery smile found each of their faces.
“Lads, please do try to act civilized ‘round guests,” said their mother. “This be Hagus Hogstead and his son, Gibrig Hogstead, Champion o’ the Iron Mountains. These be me boys, Dilly, Dally, and Diddle.”
“Well met,” said Gibrig, shaking each of their hands in turn.
“Well I’ll be a goat milker sneaking drinks from the teat,” said Dilly. “Ye sure be tall, like they say.”
“Aye,” said Dally. “And look, he brought the golden shield.”
“I wager that I can lift it,” said Diddle, rolling up his sleeves.
“If anyone be tryin’ to lift it first, it be me,” came the voice of Hammar as he turned the corner into the kitchen. “Hagus, Gibrig,” he said, shaking their hands. “Glad ye could make it.”
“Our pleasure,” said Hagus, sniffing at the air. “That be a roast I be smellin’?”
“Aye, lamb,” said Ruby, slapping Da
lly’s hand when he tried to pick at the appetizers set out on silver trays. “Ye three go on and do somethin’ useful,” she told her boys, shooing them all out of the kitchen.
“Follow me,” said Hammar. “We can have a closer look at that shield in me workshop. Care for a drink?”
“Usually,” said Hagus—though he wasn’t much of a drinker—and the dwarves shared a laugh.
Gibrig followed, glancing into every room they went through and wondering where Annabelle was. They were led out the back door and into Hammar’s workshop, which, given the hour, was closed to the public. But the place was well lit by oil lamps, and the hanging metal shields, swords, pickaxes, shovels, and axes reflected the light well.
The three brothers came shuffling into the workshop, each carrying two frothing pints of ale. Gibrig and his father each accepted one with some thanks, and being nervous as he was, Gibrig downed half of his drink in one long pull.
“Alright then,” said Hammar, rolling up his sleeves. “What be the trick o’ it?”
“Trick?” said Gibrig and then realized that the blacksmith was talking about his shield. “Oh, well, there ain’t no trick really.”
“Ye mind if I take a shot?”
“O’course not,” said Gibrig, placing the shield on the floor face down so that the handle was facing up.
“Careful ye don’t pull somethin’,” said Hagus. “I think I done pulled every muscle in me arse tryin’ to lift that thing.”
Hammar rolled his big shoulders, spread his legs wide, and planted them firmly on each side of the shield. Grabbing ahold of the handle, he pulled with all his might.
The shield didn’t budge.
Hammar adjusted his stance and tried again until the veins in his forehead looked like they might burst. “Well I’ll be a witch’s ass wart,” he said, finally giving up with a huff.
“Let me try,” said Dilly, and he and his brothers all wrestled each other to get to the handle. They all ended up trying to lift it at once, but just like a hundred dwarves before them, they failed to move it.
The Mother of Zuul: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 4) Page 3
