Book 3: Chapter 59: The Redlip Riot (1)

Book 3: Chapter 59: The Redlip Riot (1)

Release Day

Screams rang through the market, and the sounds of carnage filled my ears as another explosion rang out. A massive grumble of dwarves passed just down the road, axes in hand, their eyes burning a crimson red. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear Annie shouting a battlecry as she fought back the horde.

Bodies littered the ground around me as I dragged myself beneath Whistlemop’s carriage. I kept an iron grip on the Goldstone warhammer, my one and only life line in this pit of the Nether. It’d served me well these past few hours, and it would serve me well until I finally walked into the halls of valhalla.

Or climbed that stupid Godly mountain. Whatever.

“Go on Pete, I’ll nae make it!” Malt groaned from beside me. He was stashed up behind a wagon wheel, a pair of unconscious dwarves serving as camouflage. His ankle was swollen and looked either horribly sprained or broken.

“No dwarf left behind.” I hissed, daring to peek out from under the cart. “Where’re Godsdamn Richter and Berry! They should be in the backline supportin’ the rest of us!”

“Berry ran off with that tall elf when the fighting started. I don’t know where Richter is.”

“That little traitor!”

“Now, now, she’s a young woman in love. *cough*. I heard Annie somewhere over there. If I know her, and I’ve known her since she was knee high to a gnome, she’s probably rallied the defense.”

“Can you move?”

“I can try.”

There was a muffled hiss from a pile of bodies ten meters from the cart. The dwarves were all unconscious and in various states of disarray, but all shared one feature in common – comically swollen ruby red lips. Malt and I tensed, then relaxed as a familiar whistley voice whispered forth. “Pete?”

I turned back to Malt, offering my hand as I pulled him to his knees. I surveyed the road, but we looked to be in the clear at the moment. I pointed east, deeper into the market. “I think she’s that way.”

“Pete, it’s me, Whistlemop.” The pile of bodies shifted. “I’m stuck! These drunken coal-heads weigh a ton! Help!”

“On the count of five, run.” I told Malt. “Lean on me if you need to.”

The pile rocked violently. “Dammit! I know you can hear me Pete! HELP!”

“Should we help him?” Malt whispered.

“He’s safer under there.” I muttered. “And he won’t be able to keep up. Besides, this is all his fault.”

The pile shifted again. “Gods! They stink! And that had better be beer soaking into my good suit! I swear to Yearn, Pete, if you leave me here – “

“No dwarf left behind. Five – four – “

“PETE!!!!!” The pile shrieked.

“threetwoone – RUN!”

—

Two Hours Earlier

Ah, release day. The only thing more fun than back when Boxing Day meant stuff actually went on sale. Seriously Canadian Tire? Twenty dollars off a two-hundred dollar grill? Twist my arm whydontcha.

As per usual, we were announcing at Whistlemops’ cart in the Grand Market, while Schist revealed his brew at the Guild’s permanent Main Street storefront. It was just a stone’s throw away, in part so folks could make it in time to try both of our brews. We were set up on grocer street, where Whistlemop mostly sold Whistlemugs and other glass sundries for cooking and eating.

Kinshasa’s Redwall Grand Market was similar enough to Minnova’s Grand Market with one key difference – it wasn’t a square. Instead, there was one enormous strip running the length of Redwall Gate to Blackwall. At quarter intervals, another wide street ran perpendicular to the Main street, creating in effect another Main Street. They were so incredibly wide that there was plenty of space for caravans, bazaars, street vendors, and more.

Each of the large side streets was themed; one for blacksmiths, arms and armor and weapons, another for butchers and bakers and other food stuffs, and so on and so forth. One entire street was dedicated to city services, including city hall, the guard station, the fire hall, et cetera.

“Please, that was last round.”

We went through our pre-sale day checklist one last time, and then the hour arrived. Annie whispered to me as Dwarf Draconis strutted about on his ‘stage’ atop Whistlemop’s cart, “Are our permits in order? We did get that strongly worded letter from the city about the last time.”

“Aye. I upgraded us to a ‘public show’ rather than ‘public speech’. It cost more for the permit, but it should be fine.”

Any further conversation was stymied as the flaming bagpipes roared to life, screaming the tune to Thunderstuck – thanks to your truly – while an enormous bass drum pounded the beat.

“My Kinshasan brothers and sisters! Who’s ready to see a show?” Draconis roared above the din, clearly making use of [Project Voice]. Geeze, everyone had that bloody Ability!

The crowd roared back, and Draconis activated his signature flames as he breathed fire into the air.

What followed was something straight out of the WWE as Draconis put on a show, jumping and leaping and launching flames every which way. A fire marshal from Earth would’ve had a heart attack.

After a solid minute of pointing, laughing, shouting, and swearing, a voice echoed out over the crowd.

“You think you own this street, Draconis? I was burying my shit here before you were born, and I’ll add you to the pile if you don’t get outta here!”

Draconis swung to face the offender, and the crowd’s gaze swung with him.

“Badgerlord!” Draconis shouted, his face a rictus of rage. “You filthy animal!”

“Aye, and I’ll get even filthier when I take a bath in yer guts!” A dwarf standing on a nearby rooftop screamed back. He was wearing pitch black hide armour with a white tunic. He also had massive shoulderpads with black and white stripes, and a big metal coif topped by a badger head.

“Looks like roast Badger’s on the menu tonight!” Draconis raised his fists. “Come over here if yer dwarf enough. Though I guess not, since yer just a lowly badger!”

“Argh! I’ll rip off yer b – “

*blaaaaaahh* [Translated From Primma Donna Goat] “My sensitive royal ears!

I clapped as the crowd roared their approval, solid B-Movie acting there. Good show, good show.

Badgerlord jumped down off the roof onto Whistlemop’s caravan, and the pair of luchadwarfs began to wrestle. It was toned down from their regular show – a wagon-top wasn’t a proper ring – but it was still impressive choreography.

Choreography that Draconis was meant to win. After five minutes of slapping, punching, kicking, and screaming, Badgerlord, the Lord of the Badgers, collapsed to his knees.

“Can nothing stop you, Draconis?” He groaned, before collapsing off the cart and onto a safety tarpaulin set up for the purpose.

Draconis wiped a sweaty arm across his brow. “Nothing on this Erd can, Badgerlord, except maybe another dragon.”

At that point he held up a comically enormous bottle of our new Dragonator. The bottle was a dark green, with the image of a vicious looking red dragon painted on the label.

“Like this! The Dragonator! It’s the only brew that’s capable of takin’ down even me, The Dwarf Draconis!”

With that he lifted the novelty bottle to his lips and drank long and deep. He full on chugged the friggin’ thing!

The entire staff of the Thirsty Goat winced. Draconis hadn’t actually tried any of the Dragonator yet, because he wanted his initial reaction to be as honest as possible. We’d warned him...

He coughed once, and a wisp of smoke came out with it. He glanced down at our little group with eyes as wide as saucers.

“Oy, that’s –“ was as far as he got before his eyes rolled back, and black smoke rocketed out of his open mouth and into the sky. It looked like his soul was escaping his body. Without another word he toppled like a tree right off the cart and onto the tarpaulin. Badgerlord gave a muffled *oof* as Draconis landed right on his midsection.

There was deadsilence in the market, which was broken as somebody in the audience asked, “Is he dead?”