Chapter 5

Ash, the Crazy Stupid Drunk, Part I

 

It was disturbingly too easy for Mandy to lead Ash away from the pitched battle between lycan darklings, a Champion, and a Champion wannabe.

The cobble road around his companions was full of bloody lycan corpses. A few moaning and groaning, twitching here and there. The stink so sharp and hot Ash finally sympathized with a fish struggling through a pond of scummy copper.

There was enough blood to leave a layer of liquid between the cobble as deep as a regular solid rain shower.

But from the thunderstorm called Felix. Tearing through lycan Mandy must have known just as well as the tigress Ash cut down.

Yet she merely led me away. Not a glance back. Her poison ivy eyes no longer burning so fierce either.

Just marching down toward to Badger’s Burr Table a few couple houses down.

Probably.

Hopefully.

The occasional body of an innocent human lay here and there.

Okay, more than the occasional body.

But always in the dimmest areas. Where the lampposts didn’t light their face well enough for Ash's drunk eyes to make out their features. Well, as long as he didn’t look too closely at them.

Which he made an effort not to.

Because Ash knew what this time an alcohol-induced black out would cost. The lost memories of all of these humans.

Plus one vital city-saving oath.

Each stone house they passed had the doors shut. Windows shuttered.

The inside silent.

As if the folk inside were unaware lycan could easily smell them out from here.

According to his dad, both dads actually, a lycan’s sense of smell matched tracking dogs. Some even rivaled blood hounds. The zillions of scents within this city wouldn’t throw them off. From minced meats pies, alcohols of every sort, to roses, coffees, and the spiciest of spices, cayenne death pepper – a local variant of cayenne so strong it’s killed lesser men who tried it.

Literally.

Yet Mandy strutted tall and proud. Not fazed a bit by so many hidden humans.

Knowing full well she could easily slaughter any human who dared challenge her.

Except for the extra sway of drunkenness hidden by her slightly extra stiff movements. The kind of movements some of his fellow all-too-sober Paladins achieved when Ash finally lured them into taking a sip of liquid courage … and they ended up downing a few too many bottles … and their training to hide wounds and weaknesses kicked in.

Still, a darkling that could appreciate the pleasures of wine enough to halt her murder spree?

Maybe lycan did have some hope after all.

One day.

Her paw feet’s claws clicking and scrapping on the cobble too long – she was way more drunk than she realized.

Which was his only hope.

That and she didn’t suffer an alcohol-induced memory loss after Ash won.

A hope that died a quick death the moment she turned right in front of the twin doors of Badger’s Burr Table. Their design left a wide curvy arrowhead gap a few feet above any but the tallest human patron’s head and a couple feet below the knees.

And prevented barring them in any meaningful way.

Those two gaps that spilled the same amber ale light into the street every other night.

Meaning the set of steel sheets only reachable by a ladder hadn’t been pulled down by the headknocker Grunts yet. Given the whole process was a crazy loud and slow despite his body being built more like a massive powerful troll than a human.

Mandy shoved her way inside.

Ash quickly followed.

The square room was nothing quite as he expected it.

Of course, it was still enclosed by stone painted with silly scenes of animals of every sort going on picnics with tea and sandwiches. The round oak tables furnished as brown as the evening’s burnt coffee all were still aligned in neat crisscrossing rows. Four chairs to a table.

Each.

But human sized cocoons of white silk hung at varying heights from the ceiling. Some even as low as the brass lamps jutting out the wall, still full of burning oil too.

Yet the tables were all filled with as many bottles of wine, vodka, and whiskey as the wall shelves behind the counter in back. The biting sweet aroma of alcohol flavors with spices, fruits, and candies of every sort still going strong. Even with the flat long divider of furnished oak for the bartender streaked with blood.

Bright red and fresh.

Instinct kicked in and Ash grabbed Mandy’s wrist before reality nipped in.

Her hiss louder than a rattlesnake at his touch. Ash should of expected it too.

When a loud bang rang out behind them.

* * *

The steel sheets now closed off the most obvious escape route.

Weighted down by a huge cocoon that could only be poor Grunts. The smell of cobwebs and slimy mushrooms more stomach churning than a bottle of vodka chugged down in an instant. Only feet away Ash could make out the individual silk threads.

All so tight and thick no one could ever hope to breath under it.

Ash didn’t even hear him struggling.

The skin of his back cringed all the way to the nap of his neck.

Mandy’s guarded crouch suggested she wasn’t in on this ambush. Darklings were known to turn on each other. The fact Ash and Mandy walked into Badger Cuff Table together calmly only sealed both their fates.

The shuttered windows could be broken by the oak chairs.

Maybe.

Both were furnished. Made of solid, good quality old oak. The locks on the windows more than iron latches. They were full-fledged iron locks framing the whole shutter to keep out thieves.

Assuming they had time to dash the few feet to Mandy’s side to the nearest one.

Fortunately, Ash had forgotten to return his saber to its sheath. A stupid mistake, normally, for an idiot drunk like him.

But the drinking contest would have to wait.

Rescuing the civilians here came first.

So he began slicing through the cocoon. The sticky threads tried to cling to the edge. The slimy smell of cobwebs in moldy leaky attic growing even worse.

But his saber’s cutting edge made quick work of it.

Until Mandy grabbed his wrist.

Her poison ivy eyes gave him a deep – but not quite as venomous – look.

Followed by a shake of her head.

His heart sank like snake oil in water. What kind of darkling did this? His dad, the Earth Wizard, spent so much time lecturing Ash on various random stuff he tended to forget it soon after the wizard spoke.

Definitely a habit Ash was regretting at the moment. Another wet behind the ears remark if he ever happened to mention it, though.

He was about to ask her when a wet chuckle erupted behind us. By the counter.

They jumped.

Faced it together.

It was a huge four-foot black tarantula of spiky hair on the bottom. The kind that killed by giving its victims heart attacks by popping up in unexpected places. Death by surprise, in other words. No need for its fatal venom most of the time.

But instead of a proper mouth with mandibles dropping steaming venoms, a wiry human torso stretched a good six feet or so out the top of where its spidery head should be. Skin violet and glistening like an insect’s shell.

Yet its exoskeleton had exquisitely well-defined detail of its supposed brutish muscles. A head too much like an oval stretched high and jutted chin on the bottom. Bald except for the zillion red spider eyes all focused on us. Its mouth a mix of human and spider, complete with mandibles.

And clicking in drooling steaming excitement.

The hiss of each drop hitting the stone floor. Each added a bitter stink worse than a shot of concentrated vinegar and rotten lemon. Stung his nose, his eyes worse than a hundred bee stings.

Its four arms with hands with dagger fingertips – and holding a black scimitar in each.

All its blades on guard and ready to slice them both to bits.

“Ho!” said the spider darkling. Its voice half hisses, half clicks and all venom. “More meat for my – ah, it that you?”

Its zillions of eyes blinked at once. Targeted Mandy with a leer better reserved for fat juicy flies.

Her claws shot out. Every three inches of those deadly amber razors.

And for once, they weren’t aimed at Ash.

A step up in life.

“It is!” it exclaimed, “The so-called best of the lycan generation, the Ivy Reap! So drunk you can hardly stand. No wonder he is so upset at you. The boy … this boy?”

Its zillions of eyes slimed every inch of my body. If Ash was a chick, this guy was would be the kind of creep he’d slap the head off on principle. Then run his sexy pert ass off the other way for the next few hours.

Lucky for Ash, he could use a saber instead. Cut out the need to run away too.

Except his legs decided to wobble again. Right at the moment. The little damn traitors.

So Mandy decided to up end Ash's stupidity. The fiery glint returning to her poison ivy eyes – a bit too dull from drink.

She grabbed her dress’ low neckline and gave it a huge yank. Ripping the whole dress in two.

Revealing further proof that she really was built like a wine bottle of the rarest and best kind.

Ignoring the tiger fur all over her body, of course. Her paw-ish feet too. And the huge razor claws. Or her twitching tiger tail.

Revealing her legs wobbled as much as mine too … alcohol induced stupidity was definitely not limited to the human race.

“He’s mine, spidora stick hole,” she said, flexing her claws even more evil at the spider darkling, “I’ll cret the gedit for capturing him. Alive.”

Uhm, you mean, get the credit, right Miss Citrus Kitty?

But the words that came out of his own mouth were, “W-wait, Mo Kita, credit hick stole?”

Okay, his mouth only meant to say, “Spidora?”

But that’s the fun of being around a drunk. Especially in life and death situations against a darkling renowned for its innate sword mastery and cruelty, renown despite its actual physical form wasn't exactly as well known. Where the likelihood of either of them surviving keep dropping every time they opened their dumb mouths.

Every time they did something ever stupider than before.

Right now, Ash put chances of living somewhere only at abysmal – judging from his gut knotting as much as from the alcohol in it as it from actually dying.

Well, dying before it finished with the alcohol in it.

They had a bit more stupid to go through before their end was utterly assured.

Thank the gods.

The sudden clicks above – they might not get the chance.

Exactly why Ash didn’t gamble.

Much.

Because unless you had a trick up your sleeve, always gamble on the house winning over the long run.

“Oh fuuuck it,” I said, “Just let me have one more before I die.”

And snatched the nearest bottle of vodka. Dead Man’s Run. Chosen for its clear tall yet wide glass bottle. Showing it had only been lost a quarter of its deadly contents before its previous owner met his untimely end.

The potency so strong just the vapor could knock out the uninitiated. Even with the cap still on, it brought tears to his eyes.

Not quite anywhere near the potency of Final Chug, but Ash didn't trust his hand to find his pocket right now.

A few blinks streaked the cold drips down his cheeks as he snapped the cap off. His lips kissed the opening.

Like kissing the bottom of a dwarf’s furnace at full blast.

Lifted the bottle for a chug.

But last minute, decided to flung it straight up instead.

A slice and crack meant the bottle got cut.

The twin screeches of utter agony above. Clearly, the two spider darklings had just learned a vital lesson in life.

Never spill alcohol in your eyes.

Especially not potent stuff like Dead Man’s Run.

When taps and rips and bangs starting erupting everywhere on the ceiling. Meaning those spiders were running about bumping into everything, Ash began to question the wisdom of drinking another bottle of Dead Man’s Run.

Then groaned.

Above him the spidora were screeching their death cries. Crashing into planks, cocoons, and stone pillars. Acting as crazy as otherwise healthy chickens certain their heads had been chopped off.

Okay, he knew Dead Man’s Run was strong but this was ridiculous.

So he waved his blade at the pathetic wimps.

“Hey, crybabies!” he shouted, “Come on! It’s not that bad!”

Because no way stuff he put inside himself on a regular basis was that bad.

Yet they chose at the moment to detach from the ceiling and crash into the floor. Turning themselves into quiet lumps of ugly twitchy spider parts right in front of the last spidora.

Disturbingly enough, their violet skin even had a few cracks. Seeping dark blood, the color of crushed blueberries. The stink as bitter as a mouthful of unripe blueberries. Another reminder from back in his pre-apprentice days – when he wandered thick tangled woods all by his ignorant self, not to stuff just anything he fought in the woods in his mouth despite his stomach's demands, no matter how edible and tasty it looked.

Or else his bowels might end up protesting it greatly soon afterwards.

Both remaining darklings looked at Ash as if he was way more dangerous than his wobbling legs clearly demonstrated.

Better play it for all its worth.

Keeping his saber pointed at the fallen crybabies seemed a good starting point.

“Two down,” he said, “One to go. Mandy Pandy, will you do the honor? I suggest the bottle to your left. The red sparkling one with a green label –”

Rasps rang out above Ash. Silk threads shifting everywhere. Straining.

Not yet breaking.

The first and last remaining spidora hissed. Cracking its mouth wide with a crazy sly grin. All four blades raising.

Its eight spider feet bending for a leap.

“My hatchlings hatch soon,” it said, “A worthy meal you two will be when I dice you into –”

An explosion blew in the shutters next to Mandy. Shattered those thick oak panels.

Flinging those now jagged iron frame right at the last spidora

Who, with a whoop, sliced it in half, two blades cutting it quick. The other two shoving the two halves clear of the spidora.

“Ivy!” called out a girl, “Out here!”

Ash started to open my mouth to ask if Ivy referred to Mandy.

Before recalling the conversations –

Mandy snatched his forearm –

“You first,” she grumbled. Humanish kitty nose wrinkling.

And flung him at the open window.

Through it.

That her ridiculous strength sent him air born … his scream should of came out more than mere wimpy “Uhm …”

But he did manage to mimic an arrow. Sort of. The best he could, anyway.

Her aim was true.

He wished he could say the same for his.

But the crash and flops against hard jagged cobble left his limbs too bruised and achy to claim otherwise.

Flopping like a flounder on the ground. On very cold, very hard cobble. Thankfully he didn’t hear any of his ribs crack. The pain suggested they were only bruised, maybe possibly fractures, but not actually broken.

Even more thankfully – his saber stayed in his hand. Somehow. Just it landed away from him.

Near his face.

But better than serving raw skewered Ash delight.

A few screams, yowls, and mews later, there was a solid thump and tap on the cobble by his feet.

So Mandy managed a more dignified escape.

“Running so soon? My hatchings will hunt you down, Ivy Reap. You and your Ash La Pushka!” laughed the spidora inside, “Just pray he doesn’t catch you first!”

Someone yanked Ash to his feet.

But he didn’t need their help to run.

Okay, okay, just a little, very welcome help.