Dan the Warlord

by Hondo Jinx

  Most of the guests sat upon stone benches. But the river practically boiled with the happy splashing of mermaids and naiads, and the air vibrated with the floating and flitting of various fairy folk and Thelia’s eagles, which wheeled in the sunny sky overhead, screaming their congratulations.

  Thunderous applause filled the valley, all the guests clapping and cheering as one.

  Then the jumbotron showed a huge, bronze-skinned man, eight feet tall and packed with muscle, seated within a wavering veil of purple mist that failed to obscure his golden turban, matching vest, or the bright, scimitar smile splitting his handsome, mustachioed face.

  Zohaz the Magnificent, Dan thought, jarred out of his elation. Here was the genie who had started everything.

  Was he here to take it all away?

  No, Dan decided, when Zohaz winked at the camera, his huge smile growing huger still, and gave Dan two thumbs up.

  Dan returned the smile and the gesture, and Zohaz disappeared.

  Dan went back to waving, which seemed to please the guests immensely. The cheering went on and on.

  This is it, Dan realized, waving his arm overhead, the happiest moment of my life.

  At least to this point.

  And perhaps this would, when he reached the end of his days—an end purely hypothetical now, his mortality very much in question, given his bond to Illandria—perhaps this would prove the happiest moment of all, the moment to which all other happy moments would from this point forward aspire, the absolute apex of life, here and now.

  The trick, he thought, is to ignore all that and just enjoy the moment.

  A chorus of female voices came to life, singing a soft, sensual song that somehow managed to drown out the roar of the massive crowd—due in some part, Dan realized, to the fact that the crowd quickly fell to murmuring, mesmerized by the music. On the jumbotron, the attendees’ faces were rapt, their eyes blank.

  And Dan could understand that.

  The singers’ voices were so beautiful, so pure, so joyous and exhilarating that they might have been angelic—if not for the faint twist of darkness within the light, the depravity simmering beneath the words.

  The longer they sang, the more pronounced the carnal nature of their voices grew. In fact, Dan realized that he was growing hard now just from the obscene quivering within those otherwise heavenly voices.

  What the Hades?

  All across the balcony—and, he realized, glancing at the screen, all across the valley—wedding guests were transfixed, eyes gleaming with lust. People were shimmying in their seats, tugging at their clothes, hungry smiles creeping onto their faces.

  When Dan turned to Illandria with a questioning look, she merely smiled, licked her full lips, and pointed to the jumbotron, where the camera had settled upon a chorus of beautiful, bare-breasted, bird women perched atop the high eyrie, filling the air with their lilting, moaning voices.

  Sirens, Dan thought, and pulled Illandria close.

  The succubus queen yelped with laughter. “Yes, Master? How may I serve you?”

  “Cut the music,” Dan commanded, as one of his wives reached around to grab his stiff member. “This is a wedding, not an orgy.”

  Illandria feigned shock, then snapped her fingers, and the sirens stopped singing, replaced at once by soothing orchestral music. As the guests shook off their temporary sexual mania, Illandria pouted. “Oh, husband, you’re no fun. What’s the harm in a little love?”

  Dan mistrusted her manipulative pouting but considered her question nonetheless. “Direct your sirens to sing softly,” he said, leaning close. “Just enough to put people in the mood without stealing their free will.”

  Illandria clapped her hands, brightening at once. “Thank you, husband!”

  Then, almost imperceptibly, the sirens’ voices joined the instrumental music.

  Dan felt a slight twitch in his jeans, nothing more—except his eyes started roaming over his wives’ curves a little more emphatically.

  Jorbin Ateel beckoned to Dan, his jovial, high-pitched voice magnified over the loudspeakers, and asked him to say a few words.

  Dan stepped forward and joined Jorbin at the battlements, aware that his image now filled the jumbotrons. “Thanks for coming, everybody,” Dan said. “Enjoy the party.”

  For a second, he searched for something else to say, but then he realized that he’d already covered everything. His speech was so short that it had already concluded. So instead of saying more, he simply smiled and waved.

  The massive crowd roared in appreciation, proving a fact that was true in both of Dan’s worlds: everyone loves a short speech.

  Illandria snapped her fingers, and the attendees gasped with delight. Before them had appeared long tables laden in gourmet food and fine wine.

  Jorbin led a toast to Dan and Lily, who kissed as the throng cheered afresh. Then the smiling gnome said, “Dig in!” and the feast began.

  After the feast, Illandria transported the wedding party from the balcony to a grassy slope overlooking the festivities. The air was unseasonably warm and filled with music and laughter. A soft breeze passed, carrying the good smells of food and flowers.

  Tables of wine and food bordered a large dance stage, which the wedding party invaded happily. Instead of dancing, however, Dan’s wives surrounded him with looks of playful excitement on their faces.

  “All right,” Dan said, grinning. “What are you up to?”

  “We have a special gift for you, husband,” Holly explained, looking fit to burst.

  “Huh?” Dan said. Everything was perfect as-is. He had everything he needed or wanted.

  From where she had been hiding it behind her back, Agatha extended a gleaming piece of perfect metalwork.

  Talon’s missing blade!

  Dan had searched to no avail for the blade, which he’d lost after it had blasted through Razah and disappeared over the edge of the speeding train.

  “Where did you find it?” Dan asked, instantly elated.

  “Near Hell’s Canyon,” Agatha explained. “Illandria helped.”

  The succubus queen gave Dan a smile and a nod.

  “Outstanding,” Dan said, accepting the blade and turning it in the afternoon sunlight so that the one true forge gleamed brilliantly. Overjoyed, he clicked the missing blade back into Talon’s pommel. “Thank you.”

  “I never could have done it without Illandria’s help,” Agatha said, beaming with pride. “And the help of Mother and my sisters.”

  Dan had noticed Agatha’s family in attendance—and was happy to see them finally treating Agatha with respect. He still couldn’t like Agatha’s mother or sisters, but Agatha was happy, and that was good enough for Dan.

  But something the pink-skinned beauty had said made no sense. “How did they help you?” he asked. “This sword is your one true forge.”

  “Oh,” Agatha said. “Yes, but—” and she hesitated, apparently struggling with how, exactly, to explain whatever she had to say to Dan.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s true that I made the blade,” Agatha said, “but—”

  “Her family and I helped with the enchantment,” Illandria said.

  “Enchantment?” Dan said. “What enchant—”

  “Guess who, jack-wad!” a deep, all-too-familiar voice boomed from Talon’s third blade.

  Agatha smiled uncomfortably. Illandria’s grin was full of mischief that only a succubus queen could muster. The other women jerked away from the bellowing blade, wide-eyed.

  “Oh, Hades,” Dan said. “Wulfgar.”

  “You’re fucking A right, it’s Wulfgar!” the sword boomed. “We’re getting the band back together!”

  Dan shook his head. “And you can all hear him?”

  His wives nodded in unison, most of them looking badly confused.

  Shit, Dan thought. Wulfgar had been a big enough pain in the ass when only Dan could hear him.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” Illandria said, but her twinkling
grin made Dan suspect that she was having a good time pranking the King of the Wildervast. “When we talked, you never mentioned that others couldn’t hear Wulfgar’s voice. You only said how much you missed him.”

  “Haaaaaaaa!” Wulfgar roared triumphantly. “You missed me, huh, you old softie! I never knew you were such a sensitive guy. What a fucking pansy!”

  Reflexively, Dan reached for his hip—and frowned.

  “No sheathe this time, butt weevil!” Wulfgar laughed. “Good luck finding one to fit a three-bladed sword. Now pipe down while ol’ Wulfgar charms these ladies with his savage wit.”

  “That’s enough out of you,” Dan said, unclasping his cloak.

  “Hey,” Wulfgar said. “Don’t do it, you dirty buddy fucker!”

  Dan wrapped his cloak around Talon, muffling Wulfgar’s profane objections. Then Dan folded back one corner of the cloak and whispered into the bundle, “Chill dude, or I’ll have Illandria relocate your spirit to a toilet in the men’s barracks.”

  “You wouldn’t!” Wulfgar bellowed.

  “Oh yes, I would,” Dan said, and closed the flap, muting the ranting blade.

  “Husband,” Holly said, her purple eyes sparkling with happiness. “A few good friends wanted to see you briefly.”

  “Friends?” Dan said. “What friends?”

  Holly shrugged slyly and showed him her mischievous smile. “Don’t spoil the fun,” she said, and pointed to a meadow barely visible through a thin copse of trees. “They’ve traveled a long way to see you. Let their identities be a surprise.”

  Friends from far away? Who could it be? Dan was stumped but didn’t waste much time wondering. He was happy. And friends were always welcome.

  Meanwhile, his wives took over the dance floor, grinning and gyrating.

  “I’ll be back,” Dan told them. “I have to say hello to a few old friends.”

  Lily, stealthy as ever, appeared at his side, pulled his head down, and nipped his ear. “Hurry back, husband,” Lily said, and gave his crotch a squeeze. “I’m not much for dancing, but I’m ready to wrestle.”

  Dan kissed her again then set off across the meadow, grinning with curiosity.

  Then, passing through the trees, he almost collided with a small table, at which two friends he had never expected to see again were playing a game of chess.

  One player was kicking the other’s ass.

  Again.

  “You ungrateful, flea-bitten capuchin!” the old man in the colorful poncho squawked, shaking the shaggy head of crazy white hair that marked him as a wizard. “After all I’ve done for you, you’re going to fork me like that?”

  With a wild gleam in his oil drop eyes, the charcoal-furred monkey squealed with triumph, lifting his skinny arms in the air and pumping his tiny monkey fist overhead. Then he took a long chug off a bottle of yellow liquid, wiped a furry forearm across his salt-and-pepper muzzle, and peeled his lips back in an eager smile of bright white teeth.

  “Losing again, Zeke?” Dan said.

  The old wizard jerked in his seat, clearly surprised. His mouth curdled as if he’d taken a shot of rancid oil.

  Dan was happy to see, however, that his old friend had recovered miraculously from the last time he’d seen him.

  “This fucking monkey has no shame,” Zeke said, shaking his head. “No sense of decency or loyalty.”

  Squealing with glee, Zuggy shot to his feet and started rocking his hips side to side. Extending his long, skinny arms, he swung them rapidly back and forth, from the back of his body to the front on each side, over and over.

  Zeke growled with irritation. “And now that confounded dance!”

  That’s when Dan noticed that one of the monkey’s fists held a small toy, which flopped around indignantly as he danced.

  It was a little figurine. Something about it drew Dan’s attention.

  Zeke grinned crazily. “Recognize her?”

  Dan narrowed his eyes, staring at the figurine. “Hey,” he said, taking in the emaciated body and hateful red eyes, “is that—”

  “Griselda,” Zeke said, eyes shining with amusement.

  “Why does Zuggy have a Griselda toy?”

  The old wizard showed Dan a crazy smile. “Not a toy,” he said. “That ugly little key fob is none other than Griselda herself, frozen for eternity by the Gamemasters on the Plane of Stakes.”

  Zuggy squealed laughter and thrust out his hand so Dan could see the figurine.

  Dan crouched down, examining the horrid face. It certainly looked like the necromantic bitch. “No shit?”

  “No shit,” Zeke affirmed. “We’d been fighting her for decades—don’t look at me that way, kid; you of all people should know that time is a fickle thing—but the Gamemasters finally stepped in and mediated, pitting lich versus monkey in a chessboard deathmatch for all the bananas.” Zeke chuckled. “Well, this should go without saying, but never challenge a monkey where bananas are at stake.”

  “Wait a second,” Dan said, remembering how Zuggy had saved them against the cloud giant during Campus Quest. “Isn’t it a little weird that Zuggy solved two huge problems by playing chess?”

  “Son,” Zeke said, and for a second, he looked almost sane, perhaps even wise, “there are two types of people in the multiverse. The first type can disregard the improbable and have fun.”

  Dan nodded, waiting. When Zeke failed to elaborate, Dan said, “What about the other type?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said there are two types of people. The first type knows how to have fun, even if something seems farfetched. What’s the other type?”

  “Oh yeah, the other type,” Zeke cackled. “They’re called assholes!”

  A short while later, Dan followed Zeke’s directions toward his final mystery guest. He walked uphill, crossing the meadow toward a large hot tub, the occupants of which were obscured by steam.

  As Dan walked, he glanced over his shoulder. Over the thin hedgerow, he could see the dance floor, dominated by his beautiful wives.

  Yup, best day ever.

  Whoever this final friend was, Dan would make it quick. His whole world was out on that dance floor, waiting for him.

  Then he reached the hot tub and could see through the steam.

  “Willis!” Dan shouted with surprise.

  Dan’s former roommate and old-school TM was kicked back in a bubbling hot tub, smoking a cigar and grinning like a fiend, each of his skinny gnome arms thrown over the shoulders of a beautiful red elf. “Yeah, boyeeeee!” Willis squeaked. “Dan the man! Congratulations, dude!”

  Dan roared laughter. “How the Hades did you get here?”

  Willis shrugged. “I was playing Dullards & Drudgery, and everything just kind of stopped, and then the hottest woman I’ve ever seen walked into the kitchen.”

  “Did she have blue skin?” Dan asked. “Horns, bat wings?”

  Willis nodded. “You know her, then.”

  “You could say that,” Dan said.

  Willis rose from the hot tub, displaying a physique built on ramen and pizza and honed by countless hours of playing tabletop RPGs. Luckily, he at least wore a pair of baggy boardshorts.

  The red elf girls grabbed Willis’s legs, begging him to climb back in the hot tub.

  Willis pushed their hands gently away, chomping his cigar. “I’ll be back, ladies,” he said. “There’s plenty of Willis to go around. But I have to catch up with my boy first. Stay here.”

  The red elves promised to wait for him.

  Willis wrapped a towel around himself, tugging it up under his armpits and twisting it closed over his flat chest. “All right,” he said, shaking Dan’s hand. “You, my friend, have some explaining to do.”

  They walked.

  Dan did his best to explain everything that had happened since he’d left their apartment in this world’s version of State College. It took a while. Ultimately—and this came as a surprise—telling the story to his old roomie was cathartic.

  In true Willis styl
e, Dan’s friend listened without interruption, then whistled. “Fuck, dude. You’ve been through the ringer. But you did it. You kicked a shit-ton of ass and look what it got you.” Willis gestured with one skinny arm, indicating everything, not only the panoramic sweep of Freedom Valley but also the fortress, the guests, and the Wildervast beyond.

  Dan nodded. When he had walked with Illandria in that world beyond time, she had offered to reconstruct his reality. He could cherry pick what he wanted, she had explained, and discard the rest. But he had refused. He wanted the life he’d built. The good, the bad, everything.

  “You remember when we first played an RPG?” Dan asked. “I had never played before. You introduced me to T&T.”

  He didn’t know if Willis would understand—in this world, his friend seemed to be obsessed with D&D, not T&T—but Willis nodded, grinning.

  “I asked you a question,” Dan said.

  “You asked a lot of questions, dude.”

  “But I asked a stupid question,” Dan clarified. “You said it was the same, stupid question everyone asked when you tried to teach them how to play.”

  “Oh,” Willis said, getting it. “You asked, ‘How do you win?’”

  Dan smiled and nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. And you said—”

  “T&T isn’t that kind of game,” Willis interrupted. “It’s not like monopoly or chess. There is no end. It goes on and on. So the point is playing, not winning. In fact, you can’t win.”

  Dan panned his gaze over the scene, taking in the valley, the fortress, and the guests before focusing in on the blissful scene of his dozen wives dancing happily together down on the main terrace. “You were wrong, dude,” Dan said. “I had to fight hard, kill a lot of assholes, and meet the right women, but I did it. I won.”