Kir Royale

  We found Anna lighting the pyre in the center of Checkpoint Square. The thousands of zombies were piled up, and Emma was nearby working some sort of a device producing vacuum to suck away most of the smoke. It was an impressive work of artifice, and the fire that Anna produced was nearly white-hot, but even so the burning of thousands of bodies created a nauseating stench through the whole town. It stank like rotten meat being cooked on a grill, a distinct mix of nauseating and nauseatingly appetizing. Most of the Guild were there too, carrying the corpses with might and magic, separating the fallen heroes from the corpses of the monsters. It might have been easy to think that the one line of bodies covered in fabric in respectable repose in contrast to the barn-sized pile of the dead enemy was a sign of success, but we didn’t have the numbers to spare.

  Fifty-three people had died in the siege, and 101 more in the battle itself. We’d killed thousands, most of them twice over. But we’d lost nearly 10% of our population. If you’ve learned about wars and battles from books and movies, that might not sound too bad, but remember that Europe went through the most apocalyptic war in the history of the world some eighty years ago, and that killed 8% over the course of six years.

  I’d retreated into numbers from half-remembered history classes made crystal clear with my boosted Knowledge, as I walked towards that line of people. 10% also meant that the chances of some people I know laying under those blankets were very high, since I’d come to befriend many in the Guild over these past two weeks. Will pulled me away from them and towards Anna, who was just reducing another pile of bodies to ash and crushed bone. She was actually sweating blood, standing next to two six-packs of mana and health potions, having downed two of each already by appearances.

  “Hey, Anna, you’re taking a break,” Will said, getting her attention, then putting his other arm around her shoulder.

  “Almost done. Can’t let these rot more,” she said.

  “Sure you can. We don’t get sick anymore,” Will said.

  “It’s still gross. Two more batches will do,” she said, but she didn’t fight it when he turned us all toward the Swinging Donkey.

  “We do have news that concern you, to be honest,” I said, “And a tower full of wizards that can burn things well enough to get this handled.”

  “But-“ she said.

  “If you really don’t want to, then come meet us at the tavern,” Will said, and unfolded his arms from around the both of us, turning to have a conversation.

  “Oh what the hell. I’ve done more than enough for the night,” Anna said, and lead the way towards the Swinging Donkey.

  There weren’t many people there, but it wasn’t abandoned. Survivors of the Tower were starting to learn to get what moments of relief they could, and several of the tables were peopled by folks in burnt and bloodied clothes. Anna had the advantage of her all-black ensemble, though her face was still streaked with blood, ash and soot, but Will and I were both visibly bruised and bloodied as much as the rest of the people here. We smelled of smoke, blood and just a touch of vomit. Even Chum was flying in awkward lopsided manner, with one of his wings injured, and his sunglasses tilted on his face. If it had been anyone else, I’d have felt that I needed to get to a bath now, but it was Will and Anna, and so we were comfortable enough as we were. So when we sat at the bar and slumped forward on it, we looked rough and exhausted.

  Gromshnag was at the bar himself this night, and his knuckles were bruised bloody too. Apparently he’d joined in with the fight after all. He stood there, a polite smile on his face and a clean white towel polishing a wine glass with his pinky finger in his hand.

  “Hell of a night, ain’t it?” Gromshnag said, walking over to us with thundering footsteps.

  “At least it’s over for now,” I said.

  “What’ll it be then? Three beers? Something stronger?” Gromshnag said.

  “Get a me a whiskey and leave the bottle,” Chum said, landing on the bar.

  “Beer sounds good to you two? I’m paying,” Will said.

  “Nope. Gromshnag, I’m really counting on your stock here. Do you have a liqueur of some black berries?” I said.

  “Hm, sure, sure, Zianthe Black, it is quite rare, but I haven’t been able to move much of the rarer multiverse stock here if I’m honest. I’d be glad to bring it up for you. At a discount,” he said.

  “And sparkling wine?” Anna said, with something of a spark in her voice that had all but disappeared in the Tower.

  “We do have that too. A bit new as wines go, since I only got it started when I learned about Earth, but there is a rack of bottles in the basement,” Gromshnag said.

  “Bring us all of it and three glasses,” Anna said.

  “And the whiskey!” Chum shouted.

  “It’ll be a good few gold,” Gromshnag said, and with our encouragement, he left for his basement to retrieve the bottles.

  Will was still looking on in confusion. “Is there a joke I’m missing here?” he said.

  “Gods, can you really call yourself a Dungeonfucker if you don’t see it?” Anna said, a smile now on her face.

  “I knew you weren’t paying attention,” I said with a laugh.

  “Oh. Oh! What was it, the drink,” Will said.

  “Kir Royale. Why did you end up picking it anyways? I know none of you had even heard of it before, but then it was suddenly the official drink of the party after session one,” I said.

  “We picked it, because why the fuck would a tavern in a village in the swamp would have a cocktail menu, much less one with a cocktail named in fucking French,” Anna said and burst out a laugh.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “The barkeep was sophisticated! He’d come to retire from the capital!” I said.

  “French!” Anna said.

  “In the setting it was Draconic!” I said.

  “Draconic doesn’t sound nothing like French,” Chum said, leaning over the bar, looking trying to reach a bottle underneath it without quite going over.

  A few minutes of banter later Gromshnag returned with six green bottles and four crystal glasses, then went under the table and put a bottle of potent looking unlabeled amber liquid in front of Chum. He thumbed two of them open and pushed them towards me. I took a sniff to find the liqueur and smelled a lovely deep and sugary berry scent, and though it smelled not much at all like blackcurrant, I did pour a good, long shot in each of the wine glasses, then swirled them around to cover the insides. Then, I poured the sparkling wine on top, and the white bubbly liquid turned soft purple, while maintaining much of the thick, syrupy liquid on the glass. I passed one to each of my friends.

  “To fucking adventure,” I said.

  “May there be a good ninety percent less of it in our lives from now,” Will added.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Anna said.

  And we drank. It tasted nothing at all like Kir Royale, but only I knew that. The berries were sweeter, and the wine was much more sour, but together they balanced out and had a serious alcoholic kick. Chum quickly downed a third of the bottle and started pestering us about the tabletop campaign we’d been on together as soon as he got drunk enough, and we ended up recounting it play-by-play, as we moved through two, four and eventually the whole six bottles. It took us hours to get that far, and we totally forgot to mention the journey that Anna and Will would be taking separately from myself in the coming days.

  I remember singing ‘My Way’, exactly as badly as any other drunk rendition of the song usually goes unless performed by the man himself.

  I woke up to the chirping of birds, the bright light of a morning sung and the smell of breakfast downstairs. I was in a bed with fresh covers that smelled of lavender and hay.

  “Ow. Fuck. Goddamnit,” I groaned. I dropped out of the bed and crawled underneath it, using my covers to make it a closed environment, and 25 long minutes later my headache and nausea were gone, as was the swaying feeling, but not my dry mouth and ravenous appetite. Apparently, while my recovery ability restored injuries and purged poisons, it did not restock my body’s energy or hydration. I stood and walked down to the main hall, where Gromshnag informed me that yesterday was a special occasion and I’d have to bathe and change my clothes before being served today, but he directed me to a tub in the backyard, where I could heat the water with magic and scrub myself clean. I then threw my old clothes in the fire as well, got a new set out of my backpack (after an embarrassing return to the hall to find it in my robe and underwear), and then as soon as I had a breakfast of 12 hash browns and a pint of milk coffee I felt as good as new.

  And today there was work to do.

  I went first to the mages tower. I made sure that Emma had actually managed to set up the prison cell for Jea, who was recovering and bitter about it, but made sure to shoot some digs my direction, taunting me in a way somewhat reminiscent of flirtation. I then proceeded to meet Ajit, who was in the main office, working away on some paperwork.

  “Hey, I thought I’d make it official and make you the, I don’t know, deputy archmage in Checkpoint. Or something. I’m guessing it’s going to be you who does all the things anyways,” I said. I still had my second tankard of coffee in my hand as I spoke.

  “I was afraid you’d say that. But I do understand I’m the best man for the job. Anything else, Alex?” Ajit responded, and went back to administrative work I would need to be caught up on some other time, if I was going to take my role as a leader of the mages here seriously.

  “Yeah, I’ll need to speak to Mrs. Hoxley and Emma. They in?” I said.

  “Mrs. Hoxley is on the ground floor, she’s taken over and refurbished the kitchen. Emma will be wherever she wants to be,” he said.

  I thanked him and went downstairs to find the bitter old woman. I found her stirring a cauldron of some black sludge and making notes in a moleskin notebook while muttering under her breath.

  “Mrs. Hoxley?” I said.

  “Shh!” she said, and pointed to a seat nearby. I waited for her to be done.

  “What?” She said, eventually.

  “We are opening new branches of the Guild in other settlements. I was thinking you could go to Brandts,” I said.

  “Trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Sure, I won’t mind having you around less, but I also think you’re best suited for it. I doubt he or anyone else would be able to roll you over,” I said.

  “Hmph. If there was folk around to see you disrespecting me, we’d have words. But you ain’t wrong about that. Hated that Brandt pisser, but you do sometimes need assholes,” Mrs. Hoxley said.

  “And that’s why I’m here now,” I said.

  “Don’t you go and get too friendly with me. But fine, that chav girl is probably going to murder me if we have to share the same building much longer. Or the other way around if it comes to it,” she said.

  “Alright. I’ll bring it to Artemis then,” I said.

  “Sure, sure, I don’t have much in terms of bags,” she said.

  I was looking around for Emma, when the doors to the Checkpoint Mage Tower opened. The last time I’d seen Mrs. Xiang, her face had been fallen, her eyes empty and red. She’d taken the death of her husband badly. Or, I suppose, she had taken it exactly as appropriate considering how close the two had been. And bringing the message of how the boy whose life her husband had saved had died himself had been hard for her too. She wasn’t well now, not quite, but her clothes were clean, her hair in a tight bun and a spear by her side, she looked like she had when I’d first met her, but for the look of sad determination in her eyes.

  “Artemis spoke to me about the Guild branch business, Alex. I volunteered. I am done laying around being useless,” she said.

  “Happy to hear it. What do you need from me?” I said.

  “I’m going to bring this token to that Starter Village place, so I understand we will be working together frequently. Starting with you showing me the way there,” Mrs. Xiang said.

  “Very well. Are you ready to leave tomorrow?” I said.