Upon entering the hidden bar it hadnât taken long for Trent to dive into his spirits and he avidly mixed themâthe lights with the darksâeach wince-worthy alcohol flushing down his throat like draining waterâfalling so fast that there was a gurgle. He did not, however neglect to offer Dorian a drink every time he forgot that he had already done so only moments before.
At some point he fell into a debateâwell for Trent everything was a full-out argumentâwith one of the men he and Dorian ventured to meet in this place.
The young man was a typical knightâeven going as far as to wear his emblems at such a wretched gathering place. He struggled under the heavy swing of Trentâs words and retorts which shot out of his mouth at such a speed that the poor knight could hardly get a word in.
âNo, no General thatâs not what Iâm saying!â
âOOOOhhhhhhh no you pig-headed simpleton, I know exactly what you meant to say!â
Trent hiccupped.
âSire! Itâs not that I think that any domestic defense funds should be taken away from the armyââ
âBut you think those no-toothed, scurvy-infested, sea cakes deserve more support and funding than we do?!â
âOnly relative to the support they have now. I just thinkââ
âAAHH! Who cares what you think you salmonetic peasant!!! This armyâMY armyâis the only reason why this prissy, harpsichord-playing, religiously whipped nation hasnât been conquered by brutes from Hales or Ira!â
Another one of the knights weaseled his way between them with a red face and dreamy laughter.
âNow, now men. How about we change the subject?â
âI HOPE YOUR MOTHER FALLS WITH THE GOUT, CHARLES!â Trent slurred.
âGeneral! The subject. Change it.â
âOh, FINE! Well, then I choose! How about we discuss the fact that our nation has become nothing but some grand old puppet ever since my fat, jolly, plebian uncle opened the nationâs doors to the Harbinger!â
The knight who had once been the victim of Trentâs drunken verbal attacks chimed in.
âNow thatâs something we can all agree on. Ever since the Harbinger took up residency in the RK, a knightâs salary is nearly a third less than what it would have been ten years ago!â
This was apparently a popular topic of conversation all around the kingdom because a scantily-clad woman with a thick layer of makeup approached the group with a few of her own words.
âI hear that the King doesnât even approve new laws anymore. The Harbinger and his little red birds do it all in his place.â
Trent laughed. The fact that the woman said such a thing to him as if he had no personal intel on the situationâas if he werenât Trenton Jerimiah Cress of the Rembrandt bloodline but a common knightâtold him that she had no idea who he was. Nonetheless, he played along, taking the mask of a common knight.
âWell I wouldnât be surprised! We knights are always being given the short end of the stick when it comes to the personal gain of the big fish.â
He looked over a winked at Dorian as if he were sharing some incredible secret.
âIsnât that right,â the woman sighed, âand taxes have been rising too. Itâs rough out there for someone like me. But Iâm sureâŠâ Her slender arm draped around Trentâs shoulder and played in his hair, ââŠthings can be a little harder for a knight.â
What Trent did next would be both shocking and totally within character.
As her voice slowed and lowered and her eyelids drooped seductively, she shifted her frame to a seductive curve only to have it shaken by Trentâs shoulder jabbing her side. âGet your dirty hands off of me you vile wench! Iâd die before I lay with a woman who rolls on the floor of a brothel every night!â
The woman drew back with a curl of the lip, her brows furrowed as she looked at Trent with disgust.
âRelax you brute!â
âWelax wu bwute~~~â Trent cooed back in mockery.
And the woman, thoroughly annoyed, tossed her drink in Trentâs face. And Trent, scooping the strong alcohol from his lashes with vigor, wasnât going to hit her, but he wasnât going to let her sit pretty after doing that and as soon as he could muster to open his eyes he returned the favor, throwing his drink in her face.
Her surprised screech caught the attention of the burly tavern owner who began to push through the crowd to get to the scuffle. He charged through the wall of confused knights to seize Trent whose collar he clenched with little effort. The woman ran away.
âWhatâs going on here?â
One of the knights stepped in.
âWe apologize. Our friend spilled his drink onââ
âOh noooo you plebian donât tell lies on my behalf! WE were just minding our own business when this brothel-made wench decided it would be a good idea to violate MY space! I told her to get lost and she got all emotional (boohoo) and threw her drink in MY face! So I threw it back at her! I must say though, Iâm disappointed in your establishment. The people here used to be a lot⊠cleaner.â
Trent, pent up against the table couldnât help but notice the brown stains all over the tavern ownerâs shirt and with a curl of the brow he said:
âI guess the style clientele reflects the style of mastermind behind the businessâŠâ
The burly man wasnât an idiot and caught Trentâs insult fully. Without any warning, he picked Trent up by the collar and tossed him onto the floor at Dorianâs feet. By the time their leader hit the ground the knights were upon the tavern owner, and then his men jumped into the scuffle too. Trent got up immediately. He might have been royal blood but he wasnât a âdandyâ as he might have put it.
âDorian my boy. Weâre in a state of fight or die!â
And with a spry leap he rejoined the mob, taking down one of the new comers expertly.
As the mob grew and people began to irrationally attack others, it certainly did seem like a fight or die situation.
The fight didnât last long before the point of it was completely lost. And Trent became bored. He was no longer fighting anyone from the original scuffle but some random sap with was just looking for something interesting to do. For Trent this was completely unacceptable. So just as he did in any other bar fight heâd jumped into in the past few years, he planned his leave. He and the knights had an unspoken protocol. When youâre done with a brawl donât bother gathering the others or youâll never get out. Just go ahead and leave and see each other the next day. And Trent was going to do as he had normally done had he not remembered Dorian. With little effort he weaseled his way through the mess until he came across the March warrior. After assaulting anyone the young man might have been in the middle of a scuffle with, Trent led him to what he assumed Dorian found to be the much needed exit and they ran until they were at least a block away.
Trent stopped running when he came across a fountain.
âHey, hey, hey letâs rest,â he huffed as he jogged toward it and leaned over the ledge to appraise the damage. A potentially swollen jaw and a scrape on the foreheadânot bad. And with a pleased look on his face he rolled from his knees and onto his bottom, his back pressed against the fountain wall and he urged Dorian to sit.
âWasnât that brawl great!? WhyâŠI havenât felt that way in a long, long time!â He laughed. Considering Dorianâs personality as he understood it thus far, he went back to revise his exclamation.
âI take it this wasnât your brand of fun though, eh? Did you like the hunting trip better then?â Trent, still smirking closed his eyes and let out a breath. For the first time he looked content.
âI apologize for dragging you into such a thing. Really, I do,â he hummed. He had to be massively drunk. âIâm always going out and getting in trouble I suppose⊠Trying to find something to⊠I guess make me feel something. Life gets boing for me. Iâm so young, about 25 springs and Iâm a General and⊠Well⊠It gets boring.â
Trent opened his eyes again and squinted at a crude bakery across the way. The lights were still on.
âYou hungry? I bet theyâre about to close. Letâs get something before they close!â
And without a warning the young General sprinted over, knocking on the window to catch the attention of the baker who opened it unenthusiastically.
âLook,â the baker sighed, âif you want anything we have a very limited supply on the shelves and there wonât be new stuff till tomorrow.â
âWhat have you got?â
âRose cake.â
âIâll take two slices.â
The baker ducked back into the window to retrieve the pieces as Trent fumbled for his gold sack.
âThatâll beââ Trent chucked his whole bag into the hands of the baker which, for the record, contained more than enough to cover the price of two stale pieces of cake and a full grown horse. He took the cake and ran back to the fountain, tossing a slice in Dorianâs lap before plopping back onto the ground to consume his own. After nearly swallowing it whole, he let out a contented grunt.
âThat was disgusting,â he said with a sleepy grin, âgrade F, peasant-quality, yummy, yummy cake.â