Chapter 1
Ash, the Stupid Drunk
Smelling the rich bittersweet aroma of spiced ale and mulled wine, the cries and stomps of a crowd still dancing wild hours passed sundown, not to forget the juicy roasts of turkey legs everywhere with minced meat pies handed out for snacks to anyone with enough hands and stomach to spare …
As the beloved red-headed nutcase of a bodyguard called Penny loves to tell her darling life-long client Ash: behave and maybe, maybe, a girl or two might fall for you.
Maybe.
A big maybe.
Because in this crowd tapping their hearts out on the cobble streets, cramped into tight streets between two story stone houses packed into even tighter rows, Ash hoped to find maybe, hopefully, one girl sober enough, or possibly drunk enough, to actually do more than talk slurred to him.
You know, flirt, dance, and snuggle … naked. The way Amber used to do with him way back when he was an innocent actor-wannabe defying the great retired Captain Denzel Cole.
Well, after his minor little mission tonight, of course.
The bright paints decorating every wall with images of exotic fruits, flowers, and birds suggested the city of Chemiran was a hotbed of romance, drinking, and other crazy fun. The perfect place to a girl and guy to rub naked together.
With zillions of zigzagging roads, there’s plenty of places to sneak off to.
Full of more cafes, bookstores, and coffee shops than any sane people could ever need. All packed with furnished wood sculpted in curvy elegant fashions of various begone eras, from savages from foreign wildernesses to the domestic predecessors to Storm’s End, from real civilizations or imagined.
Especially imagined.
Creatures so elegantly designed and curvy they could never hope to walk anywhere on their hooves, paws or whatever mutation the artist deemed they should try to walk on – as long as it was beautiful.
Columns so twisty and narrow they could never hope to support anything except a couple pieces of parchment. Marble statues of lady goddesses so beautifully proportioned with big chests and narrow waists and lush hip ratios that they had the tendency to topple over from the slightest breeze.
But Penny loved them all.
Just like Amber would of.
The way her heart of a face lit up every time Penny stepped into a new place. Saw another of those crazy statue goddesses. Or an elegant creature built so weird no regular mortal could love. Her ruby red pony tail dancing as much as her leather boots. Not to mention how many times the guys said she was built like a wine bottle to a sober drunk.
(They were also drunk when they say it … but clearly not sober enough to notice her sword strapped to her hips. Her orange button down shirt and green trousers tight were enough for anyone to know the truth with decent enough accuracy anyway.)
Of course, Ash discovered in a rather painful accident (painful as in Penny punching his perverted gut a good few times for not minding his own business) that her bra, even though it fit her nicely sized boobs perfectly (not that he’d never admit to her they were a bit smaller than those goddesses – forget ever speaking of Amber, ever), also did some kind of push up job on her goods to add to the appeal of looking at her.
(And never, ever dare speak of the part about her waist to hip and chest ratios were just slightly “imperfect” enough to make her a functional person that didn’t topple over everywhere like those statue goddesses she drooled over.)
Not that Ash complained.
About her boobs, ratios, or this city. Since, every single place offered great wines. Red wines flavored with every kind of spice, fruit, and wood imaginable. White wines too. Not that Ash was a white wine guy. Then there were the blue, green, and violet wines whose ingredients and making were trade secrets worthy of a dagger in the back.
Clearly something to avoid. Both the wine and the daggers.
Now when he meant every place offered wine, every single place actually did. Baths, clothing shops, even libraries.
Where else did not offering wine be considered out of place?
Because, Chemarin’s libraries must be the only place in the world where the books all smell of fresh alcohol.
Where no one questioned the fact, Ash kept a tiny flask of liquor in his pants pocket.
Or that it contained a clear deadly liquid what aptly dubbed the Final Chug – because the alcohol's bite was so potent even a sip too much could drop you for the night and leave a massive hangover in its wake the next day.
Lesser men died from it.
Just a whiff got them drunker than a full bottle of purified vodka.
And this place was full of wonderful guys and girls capable of at least sniffing the stuff. There was a distinct chance it was a covert requirement of manhood or womanhood here, in fact.
The very place you’d never expect the old bag of magical wrinkles that everyone called the Earth Wizard to hole himself up in either.
Against the darkling assassin who called herself Scarlet Knight, the wizard had taken a number of precautions. Nearly none of them explained to Ash, Penny, or those two partners of Ash's who were also actual real Paladins.
Unlike Penny. Who technically was only tagging along to protect Ash's sorry butt.
Even, as Paladins – warriors trained and dedicated to serve the four wizards that kept the land peaceful and happy or something like that – they were tasked with protecting him. By his own orders this time too.
Because the Earth Wizard was the last wizard of the four left.
Kinda reminded Ash of a play Amber wanted to perform way back when – except his pretend dad got it shut down. Afraid of upsetting the powers that be.
As if any playwright worth their pen and voice would give in to such crude threats.
Amber got enough crude threats and remarks from ungrateful one-night lovers to grow a thick skin. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Her real-life skin had been as peachy as fresh peach pudding. As warm and silky, too. Her blond hair as golden as the coins she loved. Especially that long lock of hair that flowed over the left side of her oval face. Giving her pouty cherry lips and puffy slim cheeks the perfect look of the classic femme fatale villain, she loved to play.
Her blue eyes like electric bolts out of the sky.
Until some monstrous beastmen called lycan deflected those playfully scornful bolts. Kidnapped her and broke her to their perverted lycan will.
Still, one day Ash would find her.
Learn the magic the Earth Wizard promised could heal her too.
But as Amber proclaimed during Ash's spectacularly inept courting of her, “Don’t think you can handle me until you’ve dated a few lesser women.”
Plus, a smirky wink to make sure he got the right message.
Because the last couple years, after a couple failed attempts at real romance, his heart finally agreed it was time to move on and fulfill Amber’s suggestion. Too late to fix Ash's on again and off again disaster with a redheaded Paladin beauty called the Bloody Rose.
She was a thousand miles away in an empire he never would step foot in for all he knew.
But tonight, Ash couldn’t try to fulfill that long awaited requirement yet. Not until he fulfilled his duty to his real dad, the Earth Wizard.
But in his black suave coat and silky lavender button down, Ash got enough lingering glances from the crazy party-goers that he couldn’t slip down the next two houses into the Earth Wizard’s secret residence for the moment.
The shiny saber strapped to his side didn’t help. Only rich guys carried them here.
Especially the arrogant minor nobles who owned less land than the typical farmer – yet held a title of nobility which, of course, entitled them to a nice piece of the taxes collected throughout the country and their official resident county.
But magic made the blade cut through nearly anything very easily as long as Ash held the handle tightly enough – not something any noble except Champions got – those few special warriors titled by the Four Princes of the Realm.
The fact the other three wizards were utterly destroyed, despite being in heavily guarded towers and castles and whatever protection that they themselves had built personally or oversaw the building of – the Earth Wizard went the other way when it came to his current hideout and choose a simple stone house he bought centuries ago from some peddler of little note.
The mugs of ale and wine splashing everywhere would normally worry me more than a random assassin at the moment. It did make my shoulder cringe a bit.
Except the wizard not only waterproofed but added an auto-cleaning spell to all their outfits in the last few weeks. Including every single one of Penny’s outfits. The more outrageous slinkier ones she loved to tease Ash with too – the way Amber loved to do way back when, a few years ago.
Even though Penny wasn’t a Paladin.
Just his private bodyguard. Entirely by her own choice. Devoted wholeheartedly to him ever since he rescued her from the terrible fate of becoming a broken mindlessly obedient lycan slave like Amber was, somewhere.
Long before Ash ever became a Paladin too.
Long before Ash discovered the Earth Wizard arranged the whole thing without either of them knowing. Penny herself was actually a human construct – an artificial human built from magic and alchemy. Her soul as artificial as her body. Rescuing her activated her core mission to protect Ash. With her life if necessary.
Yet Ash never had the heart to tell her.
Star-crossed lovers, Amber would call the two of them. Her play would include lots of action and heartache and comedy. Though Ash hoped they wouldn’t end up dying at the end.
Or in the middle.
Of for gods’ sake, the beginning.
At least in the real-life version,
Even after the Earth Wizard broke the news to Ash that he was his son. Captain Denzel Cole wasn’t his father. The old bag of magical wrinkles was. Throwing in some magical tests for proof that no sane son would ever care to remember. A timely bottle or two of vodka erasing that little wrinkled horror show with a good hang over.
So Penny was here to keep his very rare progeny very safe and very much sound.
Her occasional questioning of her rather devoted yet supposedly lust less obsession with her client hard to deflect at times.
No way would Ash would risk ruining the bright gleam in those emerald eyes of hers with the truth.
So, when she stomped out of the nearest crowd, her face a peachy storm blushing with a cherry lightning of a pout, Ash darted toward his main destination anyway.
In the opposite direction.
And crashed into a wall of iron black brawn.
Felix.
His partner.
The humid night air suddenly a bit crisp and chill.
“You’re late,” he said. His speech as short as the curly fuzz on his head.
Somehow his outfit when he wore it, with his several extra inches of height and width, Felix came off far more god-like than those topple-ready goddesses.
And his thinned lips made him look like a war god barely holding back.
When Penny growled by my side.
“Figures you slouched off again,” she said, “You’re a worse bodyguard than me.”
“Penny,” barked Felix. The rest of the sentence clear even if unspoken.
Except to that red-headed darling.
The alcohol on her breath thick enough to make Ash a wobbling drunk.
Well, more of a wobbling drunk. His legs didn’t need the encouragement.
“Oh please,” she said, “That old fart needs to get out more. No wonder he doesn’t have any heirs. Can’t expect to find a lady if –”
Ash grabbed her hand before Felix unleashed a less pleasant solution.
“Heeey there,” he said, “It’s –”
She patted his cheek hard enough to count as a few slaps. Her control over her unusual strength did sometimes go awry if she got too drunk.
At least he hadn’t lost a tooth.
Yet.
“The old fart needs us, doesn’t he?” she asked. Slumping.
Felix grabbed her other hand.
His grip tight enough to make Penny grimace openly.
“Quiet,” he said, “Or else.”
He stood firm against her yank or two. Her whimper and glare confirmed her surrender.
Time to meet our scheduled execution.
* * *
Except their next scheduled execution wasn’t the one originally planned.
The first thing that warned Ash of danger was the rhythm of the movements of the nearest dancers. Cramped in these cobble streets they all started closing in on their targets in that pretend random way you see in lesser theatrical performances too often.
Amber pointed it out regularly way back when. Scolded every actor and actress who dared marred her plays with such contrived behavior till none dared think of it.
Even in their dreams.
Those chilly sweaty wake-ups good whenever the morning was otherwise too unpleasantly warm.
None of the dancers here carried the obligatory turkey leg or minced meat pie. Forget the obligatory mug of ale or cup of wine. Their eyes more on the houses around the Paladins. Especially the slim alleys cramped between them. Most too thin for any real escape attempt.
Especially the ones closest to Felix and Ash.
They all dressed in the flashy bright colored shirts, vests, and trousers of ordinary commoners. Laughing and swinging around with a solid mix of girls and guys all rather handsome and pretty. Build like wine bottles and vodka bottles, as the Chemarin saying goes.
Except their eyes, every single one of them, were more sober, more furious than a drunk deprived of alcohol too long – and with the best selection teasing them mere inches from his face.
Their pants were baggy too. Dresses puffed out around the hips and legs. Tweed caps carefully positioned over their hair. Over the sides of their head.
But not careful enough.
Ash spotted the furry hints of wolf ears jutting out of the guys’ hair. Mottled grey, brown, or black. The color of a male lycan’s fur coat. The girls and their cat ears too. Orange, yellow, or blue grey. Striped black. The color of a female lycan’s fur coat.
Their baggy bottoms would be hiding their tails. Wolves for the guys. Tigers for the girls.
A quick estimate put the pack at thirteen lycan. Seven wolves and five tigresses.
But there were definitely more nearby.
Watching.
In case one of their targets escaped this first wave.
“Felix,” Ash whispered, only careful to watch from the corner of my eyes, “Remember that time in alley town?”
Felix didn’t respond. Dragging a reluctant deadweight called Penny was slow enough.
But he definitely remembered that little training scenario back during their apprentice days, where after a nice relaxing night of drinking contests after another mind-numbingly hard exam well done, their got ambushed by a bunch of lycan constructs sent by their bastard instructors to ruin their fun.
They only survived because the alley was so thin and narrow the lycan could only attack in front and in back. The jutting ridges of the roofs long enough to prevent an attack from above.
The full moon being bright enough to read a full scroll under helped too.
And that Felix was the foremost Champion of this generation and several past.
Lucky for them, tonight’s moon was close enough to full to help the numerous lampposts dotting the street.
Especially when they entered the dimmest spot between them.
It happened in an instant.
Twenty-one pops ripped out. Worn shabby shoes exploded to reveal puffy furry paw feet. Retractable claws out digging into the cobble.
Three-inch-long claws out of their fingertips.
Fur sprouting over their bodies. Puffing up their otherwise tight tops.
Their faces now snarling. Twelve coated in wolf fur. Mottled brown, grey, and black. Or tigress fur. Orange, yellow, or blue grey. Striped black.
Yet still horribly human. Face and body.
Despite the bared fangs.
And eyes matching their bestial bodies.
Ash managed to yank out his saber just as the lycan all lunged at the Paladins.
But Felix moved first.
Against a pair of wolves in midair. Brown and grey.
His saber a wicked flash.
Slashing a brown’s throat. Gutting the grey.
His expression like a black thunderstorm.
His blade, the lightning bolts to destroy these puny ragweeds called lycan.
Ash didn’t compare him to a war god for nothing.
Not to be out done, Ash managed to duck just in time to avoid an orange tigress slicing his throat open.
But not to avoid her citrus breeze. Which stupidly enough, made him hesitate.
Or maybe it was the ridiculously low neckline on her fluffy green dress.
Because big boobs were big boobs, he guessed.
And Ash was a drunk guy with the wrong priorities, as his fake dad Denzel Cole, tended to say too often.
Before he could spot her again, one of her feline companions then yowled at him.
For leering at the wrong catgirl?
His own ears pounding louder than the crowd’s frantic screams didn’t help either.
A flash of polka dot warning him of her attack.
Training instinct kicked in.
Ash jumped back. Turning slightly away for extra push.
Just barely dodged the claws of a yellow tigress gutting him. In a polka dot dress. Covering her body arching in a partial pounce midair.
One that covered her up to her neck.
Made an easy target to slash.
His turn powered a kick. His boot nailing the side of her gut.
Her gasp. Wide eyed yellows. Back arched.
Struck in the kidney.
Crippling her temporarily.
A quick slash ended her, toppling over a wide-eyed snarling gurgle. A reminder that the techniques Captain Denzel Cole drilled into Ash actually worked – since kitty midair gymnastics ended the life of more than one over-confident soldier.
Paladins too.
“Laaadies, laaadies,” I said, “I recommend catnip rather than murder for jealousy.”
Miss Citrus Kitty mewed. As loud as a furious human-sized tabby tiger possibly could. Arching toward him. Clawed fingers wringing. Eager to slice his flesh apart. Green eyes as venomous as poison ivy. Poisonous enough to sear through his clothing and skin.
And about to pounce again.
Not miss this time either, if Ash's hunch was right. His loose legs, barely avoiding a wobble or two, agreeing with his assessment.
“Do not demean us human!” she shouted, “I am Mandy Ivy of the Clawheart Clan! I will avenge Chloe for –”
“A-avenge?” Ash asked. Pausing for dramatic effect.
The sardonic twist of his lips the pinch of sugar on top.
And the kitty falling for it.
Because for the life of him, Ash couldn’t help but admire her figure. Build like the finest wine bottle in Chemarin, as the locals would say. Even if they were all currently running away at the moment.
Well, running away from the lycan, at least.
His cheeks blushed way too hot for a deathmatch against a very cute but very murderous darkling.
Not just from too much alcohol either, unfortunately.
If Amber saw him now, she’d snort. Call it a laughing huff. And spear him with a playfully scornful glare out of her right eye. Her left eye, hidden under the front of her hair, would fry him unseen but not unfelt.
But if this orange tigress wasn’t covered in tiger fur, snarling fiercer than a bucket of ice water tossed on blacksmith’s furnace full of burning coal …
Well, no wonder his wizard father sent him a crazy cute construct for a bodyguard.
Who, by the way, was off slaughtering other lycan. Completely oblivious to her client's rather obvious yet pathetic struggle. Several lycan already crumbled on the ground by her boot. Not of drop of their blood sullying her precious leather boots.
Definitely competing in body count against Felix’s.
So Ash better wrap this up before more lycan joined Miss Citrus Kitty.
“Too cute,” he said, “Just purren a l-little and you’re bethefinest wine bottle in the city.”
Her body snapped up in surprise. The snarl on her face vanishing into a gasp of shock.
Hitting him with a warm breath full of several bottles worth of red wine spiced with the sharpest mint.
One of the strongest wines in the city. Almost as strong as decent Gin and Toxic.
And only served in his favorite hut of a caffe down this very street. Behind him, down a couple houses.
His heart didn’t know whether to sink or swim.
So he risked piling the stupid with the ultra-stupid because, well, it’s Chemarin and he's too drunk to fight seriously.
“Let’s try something a little different,” Ash said, “A drinking contest. At the Badger’s Burr Table. Winner … uhm …”
Her gape fortified into a grim expression that spelled his doom.
Oh well. Worth a try.
The screams of the townsfolk in the street were actually getting louder. As if, instead of escaping danger, they were running right into it.
“A proper purren challenge then,” she said, “Loser serves and obeys the winner unconditionally for the rest of their life. Whether as a bed warmer or as a – hick-up – a bed warmer … I mean, a – you know what I mean.”
And licked her chops.
Pointy fangs clearly showing what she meant.
“My people will enforce it. With their lives, human,” she added, “So don’t think you can run.”
As if his wobbly legs could actually run.
Joke’s on her.
Flexing her claws at him in that extra murderous lycan way – it made his throat so very thankful it wasn’t cut open … yet.
Maybe the joke wasn’t entirely on her.