Grognard and the Blue Salamander greentext

>I hate feasts.
>I'll just say it straight out. I hate 'em.
>Noisy, messy, nasty affairs that always end with a foodfight and drunks pissing in the corners
>Dogs baying and snapping over scraps underfoot and lapping up the mess
>It's enough to drive anyone with a hint of civility mad
>And why am I sitting in the middle of noisiest, messiest, nastiest one I've ever seen today?
>To greet a bunch of monster barbarians
>Peace, they say
>Alliance, they say
>Marrying off the prince to some demonic whore
>If only the king was half the man his father was, he would never let this stand
>A tense stalemate is far preferable to this mockery
>Monsters cannot be trusted. They think with their slits and not their brains. If law or honor get in the way of that, then it’s cast aside.
>I’m a grumpy old man. I know that.
>But I’m not wrong.

>But I think that’s not even the worst part of today as a chicken leg goes whirling past my ear
>It's the guest who's taken a keen interest in me from across the table
>A salamander general and a retainer of the queen
>A kindred warrior relic from my bygone era, but age has been far kinder to her
>Azure scales, bright blue flames, stacked and muscled and covered in battle scars, as uncomfortable in her finery and out of armor in the presence of the enemy as I am out of my beloved runic steel
>Lady Zuul
>Surrounded by strapping boys and it’s me she chooses to eyefuck.
>I keep my head down, poking at some roast with my dagger. She’ll lose interest and grab some young buck eventually. It sickens me but plenty of young men would even be happy about it these days. And while the king may be a handholding peacenick, he is still the king. If this alliance falls through, it won’t be because I opened my dumb grognard mouth.
>But her interest doesn’t wane. She gets up with a huge platter of food and a pitcher of wine taken from a serving wench, walks all the way around the huge table and clears her throat loudly.
>"May I?" The matronly knight steals a chair and sidles up beside me, shoving a whole goose onto my plate. "You've been avoiding my gaze"
>"I'm afraid my sight is not as sharp as it once was my Lady." I offer politely.
>Sun-chapped lips part in a hungry smile. "That's why I moved closer over here, the better for you to appreciate me."
>I look her in the eye, and stifle the innate disgust I have for the greatest villain of the battlefield in my childhood. "...So are you having a good evening?"

>She doesn’t touch the food or drink the wine, just stares. A claw creeps along my inner thigh. "I intend to, a very good evening indeed."
>It’s enough. There’s being loyal and then there’s allowing these insults. I get up to leave, being sure to pretend to stumble drunkenly in case any of the others are watching.
>I shouldn’t have bothered. The only one as sober as me is our queen, her eyes fixed on her son’s soon-to-be wife, judging every movement. Our king and the demon’s consort are so deep in their cups as to be drowning
>The killer follows.
>I barely make the first turn in the corridor before she overtakes me.
>“I know you.” The foul beast calls out. "You squired for Ulric the Unhorser in the Battle of Moss River.”
>“That was almost forty years ago.”
> “When I ran him through with my sword, you stabbed me in the back, with my own lance. Cowardly, and gutsy at the same time for a kid.” Wicked eyes glaze over with powerful effects of that singular drug, nostalgia. “How old were you?”
>”I was eleven, my Lady.”
>”Doesn’t seem that long ago.”
>“No, my Lady.”
>“My lady my lady my lady. I am Elena Zuul. the Blaze of Gormly Keep, and I am no lady!!! Where’s the boy who cursed my name as he drove a footlong spike of steel through my chest? I can smell your blood boiling. Draw your sword. Face me like a man.”
>My hand longs to do just that. She’s not wearing her armor. If I’m fast enough, I could slip my dirk between her ribs before she even knows the fight has started.
>No.
>Two hateful old knights with a grudge won’t wreck this treaty.
>At least not if I’m one of them.

>“Were that I could.” I finally answer and push past, honestly wishing I could.
>Only she’s not so willing to call it done.
>Formidable claws snatch at my tunic and spin me around, crushing me against the stone wall with terrific force.
>“I’m not going to grow old, infirm and alone.” Zuul growls. “For all I have sacrificed, I deserve to die by a man’s hand in glorious combat.”
>“I’ve earned that.” Her hard voice is almost pleading now.
>“The only thing we’ve earned is peace.” It’s the truth I’ve had to come to terms with. I do admit no small amount of pleasure in watching her struggle with the same frustration.
>Her fire burns brighter, but after a moment, the anger in her eyes dies. “That’s twice you’ve stabbed me in the heart now.”
>I can’t help a nasty grin. “Apparently it wasn’t enough.”
>“No. It wasn’t.” She whispers with a demure kiss on my cheek before she lets me go. “I’ll see you at the celebratory tournament. If you get eliminated before you face me, I’ll burn your whole miserable kingdom down, treaty or no treaty.”
>I watch her leave, almost skipping with excitement, stiffness of eighty years of battle washing away.
>My own old battle wounds throb their reminder of my age.
>But maybe, just maybe.
>There’s one last good fight in me left