Dan the Warlord

by Hondo Jinx

  The blows rained down—Clack! Clack! Clack!—and with each strike, Dan could feel Briar weakening.

  Then Dan beheld a glorious sight.

  Briar’s eyes widened with fear. This barbarian, this human, was beating him—and not with luck, superior weaponry, or fancy technique learned under the tutelage of some renowned sword master.

  No, this savage was beating him with savagery, wearing him down with speed and strength and persistence, repeating a single, simple attack again and again with brutal, brainless effectiveness.

  All in front of his sisters and his guard, while his proud words still echoed in recent memory.

  This can’t be happening! Briar’s bulging eyes seemed to scream.

  And there was nothing the expert swordsman could do about it. He was off balance, locked in place, incapable of counterattacking. The pattern had been established. He had just enough time to block each attack. Any variation from this repetitive blocking would leave him open for a crucial split-second—and Dan’s strike would smash home with devastating force.

  Dan bellowed laughter, hammering away, and with each stroke, he felt Briar’s blocks weaken.

  Then Briar wobbled.

  It was a slight thing—and yet both combatants immediately understood the implications of that subtle wobble in the way that fighting men, their senses pushed to the max, instantly comprehend such subtle yet significant shifts. In fights between well-matched opponents, these are the moments when patterns shift, and deadlock battles spiral fractally and geometrically into lopsided affairs, one small advantage swelling in importance until it gobbles the marginally disadvantaged fighter whole.

  “Weak!” Dan bellowed, and loosed the pent-up tornado of force that had been building inside him. His sword smashed into Briar’s with a loud crack, snapping the wooden blade to pieces, and followed through, slamming into the elf’s forehead and opening a long cut that bled black in the moonlight.

  Briar reeled backwards, threw the broken sword at Dan, and launched a hard kick.

  Dan saw the kick coming and pounced like a tiger.

  The kick hit only air, and Dan slammed into the smaller man, driving him to the stone floor in a crushing tackle. In an instant, Dan popped up and dropped a thunderous punch into Briar’s face.

  His knuckles crunched into the elf’s high cheekbone, splitting it.

  Briar squealed like a trapped animal. His fingers came up, scratching madly for Dan’s eyes, but Dan caught one of the gouging fingers in his teeth and bit down hard. The iron taste of blood filled his mouth.

  Briar screamed, jerking his arm wildly like he’d stuck his finger into an old-world light socket.

  Dan let go, not wanting to sever the finger, and launched a barrage of heavy punches, rolling his big shoulders with every shot. He was bigger than Briar, bigger and stronger and had the reach advantage, which suddenly mattered more than ever, and the night filled with the sounds of growling and cursing and the thump-cracking of bone and meat slamming into bone and meat.

  Dan’s fists pounded down like a pair of jackhammers, one-two-one-two-one-two, blasting through Briar’s guard. The elf’s head jerked from side to side, his face coming apart as Dan’s big knuckles slammed home, smashing, splitting, and shattering things.

  Payback’s a bitch, Dan thought, remembering the way that Briar had beaten and humiliated him in the grove.

  But instead of taunting his devastated opponent, Dan shouted with showmanship intended for the crowd of onlookers. “Never fuck with the Warlord of the Wildervast!”

  And then, as kinetic punctuation to his words, he delivered one last shot, a devastating cross imbued with every fraction of his 18/92 strength and the full power of the wind screaming within him.

  The punch blasted through Briar’s pitiful defense and slammed into the side of his face with a brutal thump-snap. Dan felt Briar’s jaw snap—and felt the cocky asshole’s consciousness whip away, leaving Briar spread across the stony floor like a patient anesthetized upon a table.

  Dan did not swing again.

  He did not talk shit.

  He did not bellow at the moon.

  Instead, he stood calmly, barely out of breath, and turned toward the onlookers, a terrible grin spreading across his face amidst a beard of Briar’s blood. “Anyone else have some shit to say? Huh? Moro?”

  The cocky elf didn’t look so cocky anymore. He just stared at his boots. In fact, no one, save for Dan’s wives, would meet his eyes.

  “Last call,” he said, panning the spectators and pausing on his grey elf visitors. “Any of you motherfuckers want to take a shot? Huh? Speak now or forever hold your fucking peace!”

  No one spoke up.

  “All right, then,” he said, lowering his voice. He’d made his point. Any additional roaring would look like anger, and anger in a leader sooner or later became weakness. “I’ve made my point. Take Briar to his room and heal his wounds. Our differences are behind us.”

  He took one last glance at Briar, whom the grey elves were now helping to his feet.

  Briar’s haughty eyes were swollen shut and split badly both above and below. His perfectly straight nose was flatted sideways in a smear of blood and cartilage. One of his high cheekbones guttered in a shattered depression, flattening Briar’s face from his fractured orbital all the way to his mouth, which had been reduced to a gasping, bloody, toothless hole ringed in formerly proud lips now split wide open like slices of raw liver.

  Dan turned on his heel and marched into the castle. The crowd separated, clearing a path for him, pieces of it breaking off and coming away. Dan’s wives followed him as he departed the throne room in silence, leaving the stunned onlookers to care for his broken and bloodied brother-in-law.

  11

  The Morning After

  The next morning, Dan woke to a breakfast of eggs and bacon, spinach sautéed with garlic and butter, and a heaping pile of fried potatoes.

  He was relieved to find Holly calm and happy this morning, despite the fallout from his fight with her brother. Elven healers had put Briar’s face back to together, but even if they made his nose straight and pretty again, they couldn’t change the fact that Dan had whipped his ass. Briar’s memories would carry that scar forever.

  Briar and his people had departed shortly after the fight without saying goodbye. Unfortunately, Lily had gone with them.

  Did that mean the marriage was off? Dan hoped not, but if so—if Lily had decided that she couldn’t marry a man who wouldn’t bite his tongue to keep the peace with her family—then Dan wouldn’t waste time with what-ifs.

  Because he was done eating shit. If somebody pushed, he would push back. If that meant fighting, he’d fight. And he wouldn’t change that for anything, not even for the love of a great woman like Lily.

  His hands were stiff and badly swollen from the fight, so holding a fork was a little awkward, but that didn’t stop him from wolfing down a heaping plate of savory awesomeness.

  The second he dropped his fork, Chloe appeared, looking perfect as always in her skimpy black-and-white maid’s outfit. She gave him a little curtsey, an impressive feat, considering that she held a platter of steaming food in one hand and a set of tongs in the other.

  “Bonjour, husband,” Chloe said, sounding excited—and her feathery tail matched her tone, swishing back and forth on the floor behind her. “More food?”

  Dan’s stomach growled as he eyed the mountain of bacon and hash brown foothills, but he shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t want to overeat. Have to stay sharp today.”

  This morning, he would meet with Prince Razah of the Jungle Kingdom. From what Tatiana said, Prince Razah was a grade-A prick and legit badass. Beyond being a member of the royal family, he was the most feared gladiator in a society that revered battle prowess above all other traits.

  According to Tatiana, the prince had dedicated his life to the study of kunjoon, the martial art available only to the royal family and their attendees, and siwi’stuwan, some kind of
religious magical system that entailed a lot of meditation and weird self-flagellation but rewarded long-time devotees with serious hand-to-hand ass-whipping skills that melded traditional martial arts with metaphysical mumbo jumbo, reminding Dan of the hokey subtitled kung fu movies he’d loved so much as a kid.

  Whatever the case, Tatiana’s message was clear: do not fuck with this guy.

  “As you wish, husband,” Chloe said with another curtsey.

  “Hold on there, girlfriend,” Nadia said. She sat on the futon a few feet away, topless and abso-fuckin-lutely lovely. “Load me up with bacon.”

  “Of course, Lady Nadia,” Chloe said happily and served meat to the always hungry werewolf.

  When Chloe finished, she bid them all adieu and left the bedchamber, her tail twitching excitedly behind her.

  The women laughed.

  “What?” Dan said.

  “Somebody’s happy today,” Thelia said.

  “Yeah, I noticed that,” Dan said. “What’s gotten into Chloe?” Did it have something to do with him kicking the shit out of Briar? Displays of power revved up some women, he knew, but Chloe didn’t seem the type.

  “She’s next,” Holly said.

  “Huh?”

  “First Petronia, then Clarissa,” Holly said. “So Chloe is next.”

  “Hold up,” Dan said. “I never consummated things with Clarissa. You’ll notice she’s not in here with us.”

  “In your way of seeing things, you might not have consummated your marriage with Clarissa,” Holly said, “but what do monster girls desire more than anything else?”

  “Essence!” Zamora squealed.

  Dan shook his head. “I gave her one little taste.”

  “And that was enough,” Holly said. “You’re bound now. You might as well invite her into the chamber tonight.”

  Dan thought about it for a second. He liked the snake-woman, and she was super hot, but he didn’t want to spend the night getting to know her. The next day, he would leave on a long trip to explore the valley, talk treaties with the Duke of Pittsburgh, and do his best to rally a horde of barbaric tribesmen.

  He also had to figure out what to do about Petronia. So long as she was chained to a plinth, she couldn’t join Dan in bed. Not that his wives were complaining. Nadia seemed interested in adding Petronia to the mix, but the other women didn’t trust the beautiful gargoyle.

  Another thing to figure out later, after his big trip.

  “I won’t invite Clarissa tonight,” he said. “When I come back. Tonight, I want to enjoy all of you—and Ula, of course.”

  In typical Ula fashion, the hobgoblin warrior woman had eaten quickly and left to make sure that everything was squared away for the trip to Hell’s Canyon. Speaking of which…

  “Well, ladies,” Dan said, rising from the futon. “Time for tea and crumpets with the Prince Razah.”

  He kissed his wives goodbye and stole a strip of bacon from Nadia’s plate, mostly for the fun of watching her boobs jiggle as she tried to snatch it back. Then he exited the chamber, laughter trailing behind him.

  He walked down the hallway, feeling naked without a sword. But the invitation from the Jungle Kingdom had been clear on that point. No weapons.

  So be it.

  Dan needed to make this work. If he could form an alliance with the Jungle Kingdom, the Duke of Harrisburg would have to travel through twenty or thirty miles of hostile jungle territory before even reaching Freedom Valley.

  That would—

  “Ha!”

  Someone grabbed Dan from behind, jarring him from his thoughts.

  He reacted instinctively, spinning, knocking his assailant’s arms aside, and pinning her to the wall by the throat, making her light blue eyes bulge—all in a fraction of second.

  “Freckles,” he said, releasing the beautiful half-elf’s slender neck.

  Freckles filled the hall with girlish laughter. A few strands of copper-streaked blond hair poked out from the hood of her dark cloak. “I did it!” she exclaimed triumphantly, pumping a tiny fist in the air. “I actually surprised you, Lord Dan!”

  Dan grinned. “That you did. And we barbarians don’t surprise easily.” Glancing around, he realized that Freckles had been hiding behind a support beam that jutted a mere six inches out from the wall. Good thing she hadn’t been an assassin. He’d walked right past her. “Nadia has taught you well.”

  “Thank you, Lord Dan,” Freckles said. “She is an amazing teacher, and I am trying hard. I want her to teach me everything, so I can be of service to you.”

  Be of service to me.

  Dan beat back a stream of impure thoughts and thanked the pretty girl. “Well done,” he said with a grin. “But next time I’ll be keeping an eye out for you.”

  Laughing, Freckles flattened herself against the wall, drawing her cloak over her face vampire-style so that Dan could only see her delighted eyes. “You are no match for the Lady of Shadows, Lord Dan. Oh—and you might want this back.”

  Her hand appeared from the folds of her dark cloak, extending something to him.

  “My wallet,” Dan said incredulously. “That’s it. I’m definitely punishing Nadia for this.”

  “She would love that, Lord,” Freckles said, and ran off down the hall, laughing.

  Dan worked his way downstairs.

  Parus was waiting for him in the courtyard.

  “Good morning, Master Dan,” Parus said. “Ready to parlay with the panther?”

  “I’m ready,” Dan said, “but there’s been a change of plans. You’re not coming with us to the gorge.”

  “Sir?” Parus asked, looking both confused and troubled. “I apologize for causing a distraction before your match. I hope that I haven’t lost your confidence, sir.”

  It took Dan a second to even grasp Parus’s concern. “No. Nothing like that. You have my full confidence, of course. As to Moro, fuck that guy. He’s ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.”

  Parus laughed. “Yes, sir. He’s so cocky. I’d love to—” The red elf caught himself. “That isn’t my place. But thank you, Master Dan, for shutting the grey elves’ mouths.”

  Dan smiled but had to make one thing clear. “The only mouth I shut was Briar’s—but yeah, it felt good, shutting it.”

  “If Briar had won,” Parus said, “Moro and the others would have been insufferable. The grey elves—”

  “Enough,” Dan said gently, clapping the fierce soldier on the shoulder. “Save that fighting spirit for our actual enemies. I must leave. We can’t keep the panther prince waiting. As I was saying, I need you here, especially since Ula will be with me. We never know when Blivet might strike again.”

  “Yes, Master Dan,” Parus said. “My soldiers patrol the fortress constantly. They will remain vigilant day and night.”

  Dan smiled. “I know they will, with a leader like you.”

  Parus beamed at the compliment, “Thank you, Master Dan.”

  Dan started to leave but turned back and held out his hand. “One more thing, Parus. Your quick reaction yesterday, throwing that dagger and nailing Blivet in the neck—you saved my life. Thank you.”

  Parus smiled. “Glad I was there, sir. But no need to thank me. I was only doing my job.”

  “Bullshit,” Dan said. “You thought fast and moved faster, and I’d be dead if you hadn’t. Thanks, Parus. You’re a good friend and a great soldier, and I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

  They parted ways, Dan feeling very lucky to leave the castle’s defense in Parus’s capable hands, which he would be doing again on the morrow, when he left the fortress and rode into Freedom Valley.

  He would be gone for a long time. Exactly how long, he couldn’t say. But however long it took, the trip was necessary. He hated the thought of meeting with, letting alone forming an alliance with, the Duke of Pittsburgh, but if he didn’t, he would end up fighting a two-front war, and that would be suicide.

  He felt a surge of excitement about the trip’s other purpose.
Going tribe to tribe, he would gather his barbaric horde.

  We’ll see how the duke and his civilized invaders react when several hundred wild-ass, screaming savages crash into their lines, Dan thought with a grin. Unless Tatiana’s right, of course, and Prince Razah throws me into Hell’s Gorge.

  12

  The Stench of Fear

  Well, they got the name right, Dan thought, striding out of the railroad bridge over Hell’s Canyon.

  The gorge was huge—easily a quarter of a mile across—with sharp cliff faces that dropped straight down into a seemingly bottomless chasm, out of which rolled billowing waves of heat that roiled the air, making the high wall of jungle on the opposite side little more than a green blur.

  As set out by the invitation, Dan carried no weapon, only a tall pole upon which fluttered his standard: a pair of broken shackles stitched in red upon a white field.

  Halfway between the Jungle Kingdom and Dan’s side, where the eastern edge of Freedom Valley terminated in a sharp cliff latticed in the now-abandoned scaffold village of the several thousand red elves who had moved to the tent city surrounding his fortress, a black dot hovered in the steamy air above the tracks.

  Dan walked in that direction, sweating like crazy from the intense heat boiling up out of the canyon. The bridge beneath him was clearly a work of magic, a single span of railroad tracks that stretched all the way across the gorge without a single support column. There was no walkway, no railing, nothing. Just tracks and ties, the empty spaces between, and the steaming void below.

  He had never really been afraid of heights, but this was extreme. His animal brain demanded that he walk slowly and cautiously.

  Instead, he held his chin high and strode along the suspended track as if he were strolling across a country meadow.

  Because as he drew closer to the midpoint, he understood that his suspicion had been correct. The black dot floating in the air ahead of him was none other than Prince Razah Kah’Dreel. And Tatiana had been very clear about the etiquette and underlying psychology of this moment.