Chapter 657: Good, clean fun
Mason held all the civilians back, going through the orc tower teleporter with only his players. Wedding or not, he hadn’t forgotten—only the paranoid survived.
They stepped out into the tower ready to fight in the slightly insane, Blake-made mess of fortress built around the device.
“Uh.” Carl looked around at the various colors and materials, summoning his deadly blade. “Why does it look like an evil unicorn vomited over everything?”
Seeing the weapon reminded Mason of the ‘plane of night’ gift safely tucked in Haley’s void storage, and he grinned.
“It’s just normal Blake crazy. Don’t worry. I can smell the feast.”
With his improved senses, Mason could already hear and smell everything. Woodsmoke and roasted meat, sweat and grumbling servants and iron. If it was an ambush, it was exceptionally well disguised.
“Welcome, welcome!” Blake’s floating light familiar popped out of a wall. “Follow me, honored guests. Everything is arranged.”
Mason gave Carl a shrug, waited the arranged few minutes for the civilians, then led them all down after the construct. The noise grew and grew, the fortress turning to hallway, then to an open hall filled with orcs.
Hundreds of the creatures filled the space: tall, broad, tusked, skin ranging from light-green to deep charcoal. They wore a mixture of armor and furs and beads; most were covered in paints or jewelry; many carried weapons openly. All eyes turned as the humans appeared.
Silence fell, thick and heavy. With is Ranger’s Mark and now discerning gaze, Mason searched for any real threat to his elite players, and found none.
At the far end of the hall, Blake stood beside his would-be bride on a raised dais. The beautiful tower lord wore crimson and black, showing her small pregnant belly proudly, little tusks polished to a gleam. Blake wore what could only be called a wizard’s robe, looking annoyingly composed. A half-dozen orc lords flanked them—big bastards, at least one or two familiar.
Mason was glad he was used to being stared at.
He kept his face blank, shoulders relaxed, but his senses were wide open: heartbeats, scents, ready for the faintest hiss of drawn steel. A part of him hoped it happened, even then, even with his civilians.
“King Mason, first of his name.” Ilya’s voice seemed magically enhanced. “Welcome to the White Tower.”
The orcs roared—short, guttural, their eyes lowered. Half the people around Mason jumped, but it was clear the orcs were just welcoming them. It seemed like violence was off the table. At least for now. He inclined his head.
“Lady Ambereye. Thank you for the invitation.”
He stepped forward, and his people followed in loose formation—a V of players like the vanguard. The civilians followed and started pulling out all his gifts from their void storage like a little train.
The orcs gasped and pointed, which mostly confused the civilians. They hadn’t been planning any kind of ‘show’, and didn’t think anything of it. But to the magically disinclined orcs, it was probably like a dozen magicians pulling rabbits out of hats. Some of them literally started clapping.
“For the bride and groom.” Mason gestured at the gifts. “It’s customary for us humans.
“We are honored.” Ilya looked very pleased, and only smelled a little afraid. He didn’t blame her. The last time she’d seen a group of orcs and humans work together, Mason had left most of them splattered on the floor after they’d betrayed her. “Your gifts humble us. Your presence strengthens us.”
Mason gestured to his women and key players, and introduced them. Ilya introduced a few of her people and guest lords.
The young Lord Stoneblood was there—the one who’s family Mason had ripped apart. As was another young, powerful orc in familiar red armor. Presumably the new orc in charge after that big fellow died in the holy city. There was a few ancient shamans, too, all of whom glared at Mason like he was a villain from some orc fairytale. Maybe he was.
“Your household is formidable,” Ilya said, keeping up an admirably calm smile. “And your mates are very beautiful. I hope we get a chance to speak. I’m very curious about human women.”
“I guess yer men are curious about us, too,” Becky said, glancing around the room like she wasn’t impressed. “Had to kill a boat load when they tried to take us as slaves.”
Even Mason winced. He turned to give her a ‘not now’ sort of glare, and she withered a little. Ilya looked somewhere between embarrassed and impressed. But she stood there too long without saying anything, and the moment got awkward.
The big new lord in the dragon scale armor laughed, which instantly had all the other male orcs laughing too.
“I like this one,” he called. “A brave female warrior. What children she would make!”
Mason kept on staring until he was sure Becky wasn’t going to rise to that. Then he took a breath and looked at Blake.
“So. Do we start drinking now, or later?”
The nearby royal orcs seemed surprisingly comfortable with Blake—like they actually liked him, or were at least used to him. They stood right at his side, like there wasn’t any awkwardness. He smiled and looked to Ilya as if to make sure it was alright. She gave him a subtle nod.
“With orcs, brother,” he said, “drinking never begins or ends. It just continues.”
This seemed to be a welcome joke, and the orcs all chuckled as a few tipped cups or wineskins. Blake smiled his perfect smile, but Mason could see the red skin and the little beads of sweat. His brother was nervous. Afraid, even.
“Please. Sit and eat.” Ilya stood and stepped down the dais, her white furs dragging behind her. “A guest of the towers must always be eating or drinking, or we are bad hosts. You are welcome here. You are under my protection.”
At the word ‘protection’, a few dozen almost invisible constructs jerked to life all along the outside of the hall. A lot of the orcs spasmed away from them in surprise, whispers and amazement passing between them.
It had obviously been the plan, and Mason was impressed. Blake and his orc wife were trying to keep order the same way he had—a message to their kin and followers: ‘start shit, and you’ll lose’.
In what also seemed like a plan, servants all over the hall started coming out with new kegs and platters. Mason shivered at the growing scent of smoked meat. He was pretty sure he even saw what must have been a giant bowl of brisket. Or something like brisket. He looked at Blake, and his brother wiggled his eyebrows.
“Oh that smells good,” Becky said sniffing beside him. “I bet we can even get Demi here with a mouth full of meat. Other than Mason’s, that is.”
All the girls stared or grinned, and Demi instantly flushed red at the attention. Mason shook his head at the cowgirl.
“You’re gonna be trouble tonight, aren’t you?”
She beamed like ‘yes, yes I will’. He found he didn’t mind. These orcs didn’t concern him, and he had a feeling it would take a great deal of offence to stop Ilya or anyone else from wanting an official alliance with his house.
“I’m not a vegetarian,” Demi said defensively. “I just don’t eat much meat.”
Becky looked ready to retort with another lewd comment. Mason half lifted her with a hand on her ass, pushing her towards the tables.
“Go drink and eat and stay out of trouble.”
She stuck out her tongue, but went with a smile, boots tapping as she walked her way up to a table. Lexi and Rosa (and Lodie) watched her like she was their superhero, and soon followed after.
“You know, they used to hate each other.” Mason put an arm around Haley and Demi. “Now just look at them. Like peas and carrots.”
“More like sister-wives in a cult compound,” Demi said wryly, giving Mason a cheeky glance. But he just smiled right through, too pleased to take any bait.
“You love my cult,” he said, squeezing both women a little tighter.
“Not the c-word I was thinking of,” Haley whispered in his ear, hand drifting down his ‘kingly tunic’. He took a breath and gave her a down girl look.
“Later. After the fighting. Maybe right after.”
She was half pouting, half excited, but he could tell she was enjoying the night as much as the others. He knew she carried a lot of weight for him—that she handled endless problems in the civilian world so he didn’t have to. She needed a night off as much as he did.
He kissed her temple and pulled her in, and she closed her eyes and hugged his side. He tried not to think about her mortality, and what Demi said. Not for a night, at least. The moment the thought touched him, Demi turned and met his eyes with a sad, knowing smile, and squeezed his hand.
“Do we need to find some kind of guest room?” Haley said, plucked brow furrowed. “I assume orcs have beds. Do orcs have beds?”
“Think so.” Mason shrugged and tried to remember what he actually saw in all the rooms he ran through. He was pretty sure he saw beds. “I’ve had sex outside an orc tower. But not inside one. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”
Haley’s eyebrows lifted to orbit, and he chuckled.
“Ask Becky about it.”
“Oh I will.”
She was looking jealous of all the adventure again, and he decided a distraction was in order. Becky was apparently already providing the perfect thing—with some food in one hand, she was attempting to teach a few orc women how to line dance.
Mason grinned and turned to his players.
“Carl. Phuong. You’re not too old to have a little fun, are you?”
Carl looked around in confusion until he saw Becky, then squinted.
“I don’t dance, kid. I move like a dead fish.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he seemed to remember he was in a post-apocalyptic world, with a magically infused physique. At an orc wedding. After surviving a ridiculous number of horrors. He stood with a sigh, and took Sylvie’s hand, pulling at a few others to get up, too.
Mason grinned as more humans joined, then more orcs came trying to join whatever the strange humans were doing. Blake was calling out to someone from the dais, and soon the ridiculous orc music swelled.
In a few minutes, the hall filled with laughter and roaring voices. Even the giant, warrior lords were trying to follow Becky, and making the most ridiculous scene Mason had ever seen outside of mortal combat with monsters.
He took Demi and Haley’s hands and joined the line. And soon all his ‘wives’ were dancing around him, laughing and flushed and alive. And for just a moment, without banging a woman’s brains out or killing something, he forgot all about the end of the world.