Fat Barbarian: A Humorous Fantasy Adventure (Fat Barbarian Saga Book 1)

by Richard Hedley

  “Where will we rendezvous?”

  “Just here,” he pointed to the map, “where the road meets the river. We’ll be on the other side of the river close to the bridge.”

  “Assuming the dragon hasn’t burned it down.”

  “Yes. If he does, we can still cross this time of year,” he replied. “I spend a lot of time on my land and talking to people. I know where the cobbler is buried.”

  Natalie decided not to ask if he meant the dessert or shoemaker and left to get ready. She’d leave as soon as possible. It was hard to travel in the dark, but if she waited till morning too many people would be treating her like a princess instead of a warrior.

  In her tent, she donned her leather armor and after a moment, selected her short sword and buckler. Both were easy to maneuver and she wasn’t expecting to get into hand to hand combat with the dragon. Maybe an opportunistic farmer, but she had enough to keep them from attacking. If she ran across an armored opponent, she’d at least have a chance if she could bring the sword’s heavy pommel into play.

  On the second day she came across a strange site in a farmer’s pasture: a creature that looked sort of like a green dragon, but on two legs like a man. It had to be something out of bedtime stories— a dragonman. If dragonmen were real, then there was a bigger threat to all the people of the Seven Realms. She crouched, got on the ground, and crawled for a better look. Dragonmen weren’t supposed to be real. Suddenly, she heard a noise behind her.

  The princess rolled over swiftly and quietly, only to find another dragonman standing above her. He put his foot on her chest and a vicious spear at her throat. The creature was huge, at least half again the height of a large man. Against all logic, a huge lizard dick dangled down from under his kilt, like the stump of a tail. It made a hissing noise toward the pasture before looking down at her. Its eyes were cold and held only contempt.

  “Spy,” it said with a hiss. “You thought you could sneak through our new land and not pay the price, eh? We know what you are doing. We know all.”

  She couldn’t grab the spear and roll out from underneath the crushing weight of his foot, so she did the only smart thing she could think of— she relaxed and waited for the dragonman to do something stupid. And she realized that, yes, thank you, it was a tail, not a dragon dick.

  Her captor remained all but frozen in place until the second dragonman arrived. Then he removed his foot from her chest, stepped back, and told her to get up.

  The second one held up a scalp with long brown hair. He threw it to her and she caught it on reflex. He reached into a pouch and withdrew a small human hand. If Natalie had to guess, it belonged to a little girl.

  “Maybe it still lives, maybe not.” The dragonman’s words came like drool. “Others do. At least for now.”

  It took a huge bite of the hand and made appreciative noises.

  “Here is what you will do,” it said. “You will go to your army and disable the arrow shooter so it cannot harm our Master.” He gestured to the other dragonman. “Skaal will take you. If you do not do this, he will come back and we will eat the people in that place.” He gestured to the house. “There are six of them. We will make them watch when we feast on them as they still live. You will do as I say to stop this, Princess Natalie.”

  Natalie looked at them. How did they know who she was, she wondered. She nodded her head in acceptance as the unnamed dragonman finished eating the hand, bone and all.

  “Know that your puny weapon cannot hurt Skaal. Know that he doesn’t sleep as you do. He doesn’t tire as you do. We are dragonmen and we are much better than tiny humans.”

  “Do this and most of the people will survive. We prefer to eat the cows, but human meat will do.”

  The first one, Skaal, wasn’t as large as she first thought, only two or three heads taller than her, grabbed her arm and pulled her along. She had no choice but to follow.

  Splitting Red

  Bardulf the Ramekin put his free hand on his face and massaged his temples. The blue sword is in the red castle. He could feel frustration boiling up from his belly, but knew better than to give in to it. After a moment, he removed his hand and let out a sigh.

  "This is why they call you 'Aargh,'" said Bardulf.

  "I'm only trying to help," the red sword replied. "Sometimes people just don't listen, as much help as I tried to be, they just won't listen. Now, if you would just not gag me. I'll be very helpful."

  "You'll get a gag right now, if you don't shut up." He scratched his head for a moment while he considered the situation. Going back meant another goddamn delay. "Look, I know you're a magic sword and you've got strange requirements. Some swords eat souls, you run your mouth. I'll let you do that, but only at the right time when I talk to you. You don't just talk, you reply."

  "You took a while to get around to the point there, Bardulf the barbarian. I thought barbarians were supposed to be... what's the word...? Talcum? No! Taciturn. Barbarians are supposed to be taciturn. Maybe I'm not the one with the talking too much problem."

  For a moment, Bardulf considered leaving the sword there. That wouldn't work. If the blue sword was in the red dragon, he might need the red sword to slice through the red dragon enough to reach it. Some days, things are like that.

  "Look, we're going up these stairs," Bardulf said. "And I need you to be quiet. You've already said you’re useless against everything but the red dragon and she's dead. There's no telling what we'll run into or how many guards there will be. The blue dragon may be waiting for us. So I don't need you talking and giving us away."

  "Okay,” it said.

  Bardulf regarded the sword for a moment and waited for it blabber more, but it didn't. Another Christmas miracle.

  He walked up the stairs and took a few turns, arrived at the door, and opened it, revealing the interior of Blue Castle. At least, it seemed like the castle, but the back half of it seemed to be missing. There was a wide-open vista to a field where the back wall ought to be.

  Looking left, he saw the blue dragon. It wasn't what he expected. It was sitting on a stool with a crowd of people in front of it and it was playing a goddamn lute. What kind of dragon plays a lute, he thought. The crowd seemed to be happy. They were laughing and smiling and clapping with the music. Everyone was well-dressed and healthy.

  The field behind Blue Castle was green and filled with farms. Bardulf could see the red castle on a mountain not too far in the distance.

  He'd obviously taken the long path from the red castle to the blue one.

  Bardulf followed a trail through the fields and forest before going up a gentle slope to the red castle. Instead of taking days, this trip took two hours. And there was even a convenient dragon-themed pub at the midway point. The barbarian didn’t stop, he wanted to get this rescue back on track.

  Arriving at the red castle, everything was much as it was when he left, Drusilla was nowhere around and the rocks were continuing their slow march toward the castle. At least, he assumed they were. Rocks are slow and it can be hard to see if they're moving on their own.

  He entered the castle and saw the dragon's body where he'd left it. It still had a large wound in the front of it where Aargh had penetrated its armor.

  "Okay, Aargh, now what happens?"

  "That depends on what you want to do."

  "It's not what I want to do. It's what I have to do. I want to go get a flagon of dark ale and squeeze a wench, but I need to open this dragon to find the blue sword," the barbarian replied. "Is there anything you want to tell me before I look for the blue sword in the dragon?"

  "Well, I guess you cut the old girl open and try to find the sword,” Aargh replied.

  Bardulf approached the deceased dragon and walked around it, looking it up and down. He stopped and crossed his arms over his massive chest.

  "Okay, Aargh, it's a big fucking dragon. Do you have any idea where I should start?”

  "Well, if it was me, I'd start where there’s already a hole,” said Aargh. "
Stands to reason, doesn't it?"

  Bardulf was silent.

  "When you said the blue sword was in the red dragon, did you mean this red dragon? Or is there another red dragon?"

  "Oh, this is the red dragon," said Aargh. "But I said the Red Dragon. It would be pretty silly to leave at sword inside a fire-breathing dragon, wouldn't it?"

  "That tavern we passed along the way," said the Ramekin in an even tone. "It wouldn’t just happened to be the Red Dragon, would it?"

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you say something when we walked by it?"

  "We have an agreement don't we? I didn't want to get gagged," said the sword. "I mean you didn't say I can talk if I had something useful to say, and then that's up to me and if you decide you don't like it, you'll wind up gagging me again. It's really annoying, being gagged. I just don't understand why people are so racist against talking swords."

  Bardulf turned and walked out the front gate of the red castle, reluctantly carrying the Aargh with him.

  After about an hour he walked into the Red Dragon. It was a nice tavern with warm wood on the floors and timbers showing through white plaster on the walls and the ceiling. In the center was a large well-stocked bar. Just the place Bardulf needed to go.

  He walked up to the bar, close to where the bartender was, and spoke up.

  "Hey there, my good man," Bardulf said. "I've got coins, and I'd like an ale. Please."

  “I thought you were a barbarian when you came in,” said the bartender. “What kind of barbarian says ‘please’?”

  “The polite kind,” replied Bardulf. “Not my normal way of doing things, but I’m tired of killing everyone I meet.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The bartender grabbed a large, glass mug and poured a healthy amount of ale into it. The barbarian found that bars typically served in things less breakable than glass, so this was an interesting change. When the bartender set the mug in front of him, he can see small particles of stuff floating around in it. Some of it seemed to be swimming.

  "One coin, stranger," said the bartender. Bardulf handed him a coin, and the fellow continued speaking. "I expect you're here on some quest or another. You're probably looking for assistance from me, but I don't get involved with anything."

  "I think you've got something I want," Bardulf said.

  "And what would that be? Something old? Something new? Something borrowed? Or, perhaps, something blue? You types are all the same. You come through here looking for adventure and leave nothing but desolation in your wake. We don't need that."

  Bardulf regarded the man for a moment and stood slowly, revealing his massive size.

  The bartender stepped back, his face contorts in horror. "You… You're… The… Ramekin. We don't want any trouble here, Mister."

  "I'm not here for any trouble," he replied. "In fact, I want to relieve you of some trouble. I want the blue sword."

  "You must have a death wish," The bartender as he leaned closer to Bardulf. "First you killed the red dragon, now you want to kill the Red Dragon. We won't go down without a fight."

  Bardulf picked up the red sword. "What do you think, Aargh? Do we have a death wish?"

  "I don't know about you, but I sure do. I've lived a few centuries and I'm ready to turn it in, but all I hear from everybody any time they picked me up is ‘we have to go kill something.’ I'm really tired of killing all kinds of things and frankly, I'm ready for some time off. Now that I'm the red sword and the red dragon is dead, I'd like to take a long dirt nap and decompose into my component molecules so I can be forged again as an even more powerful weapon."

  “You’re not a lot of help here, Aargh." His gaze moved from his ale to the bartender. “Mr. Bartender, I have no desire to hurt you, I just want the blue sword and I'll be on my way."

  The bartender locked eyes with Bardulf and yelled, "Eldon! Get your ass down here."

  Heavy steps sounded above as if a giant had just awoken and was stomping on the floor above. The sound went toward the stairs and came clumping down the stairs. Very long legs came into view at the top of the stairs, soon followed by the tallest man Bardulf had ever seen.

  The giant man was wearing a suit with broad vertical stripes and a pointy hat. Bardulf would have questioned his sanity if he hadn’t already encountered nine hundred insane things since this Adventure began.

  Bartender gestured to Eldon, the man in the pointy hat. "This is the pachinko wizard, you'll have to defeat him if you want the blue sword."

  Bardulf picked up a barstool with his right hand. He took two quick steps toward the pachinko wizard and smashed his kneecap. Then, his arm moved in a blur, brought the stool onto the giant wizard’s head until his cringing form was unmoving and bleeding on the floor.

  "What the fuck did you do that for!" exclaimed the Red Dragon’s bartender.

  Bardulf wiped some blood off of his face as he turned to the bartender. "You said I had to defeat him. There he lays— defeated. Now give me the blue sword."

  "You're a fucking psycho! You were supposed to defeat him at that game!” said the bartender, pointing to a strange machine in the corner.

  "Oh," says Bardulf as he picked up another chair and flung it at the machine in the corner. The machine shattered on impact, exploding with a tinkling sound and sending silver balls flying around the room. "There. I defeated the pinkball machine or whatever the fuck that is."

  The bartender pointed a shaking hand to a case above the entryway. Inside the case, behind glass was the blue sword. It looked identical to the red sword, save for the color.

  "Please just take it and go away," the bartender walked around the bar toward Eldon's bleeding form. "You've done enough damage, barbarian.”

  He climbed on a chair, he retrieved the display case, and removed the blue sword. With the swords in his left hand, he reached into his pouch, got a handful of coins out and left them on the bar.

  "Sorry about the mess," He left the building.

  It was time to start rescuing Queen Prunella.

  Blue Stories

  The blue sword spoke up as they left the Red Dragon Tavern. "Motherfucker, what took you so long? I've been in that motherfucking bar for more than a few minutes. And put me in your other hand, you nasty fucking barbarian motherfucker.”

  "Oh great. Another talking sword." Bardulf ignored the blue sword and kept it in his left hand with Aargh.

  “No, you didn’t just put me in the left hand. I’m a right hand kind of sword, motherfucker.”

  “Shut up,” said Bardulf. “I’m so right-handed, my left hand is right-handed.”

  “You know how it is with heroes," Aargh whined. “This one is especially that way.”

  "This motherfucker is slow as hell isn't he? I bet he even went up to the red castle to dig me out of the dead fucking dragon."

  "Yeah," said Bardulf, stepping on to the path to Blue Castle. "I did. Your stupid friend over there was so busy talking, he didn’t say anything. And while we're on the subject of stupid, if you're going to be another talking sword, I need your name."

  “Mace is the name and stabbing is my game."

  "You know, I've always wondered about that," said Aargh. "If stabbing is your game, why would you be called Mace? It doesn't make any sense. I would think you'd be called Cutty Von Stabsword or something like that."

  “Motherfucker, that’s about right. I didn’t get to choose my name. It was that stupid fucking wizard. Probably didn’t know shit about swords, so he thought it was the same thing.”

  “Like the guy who calls his black cat ‘Snowball’?” asked Aargh.

  “No, dumbass. That’s irony, there. More like the silly motherfucker who doesn’t understand the difference between a mace and a morning star.”

  After a pause Aargh, asked “Um, what’s the difference?”

  “You about one ignorant know-it-all!” Mace replied sharply. “Both are fancy clubs. But, a morningstar is the one with a bunch of spikes sticking out of it. You put that spiky
ball on a chain and you’ve got a flail. Why you’d want to do something that stupid is beyond me, but there you go.”

  “You know, I thought a perk of being a magic sword would be knowing about other weapons. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?” Aargh asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I thought that same shit, too. You'll never guess what I found out after living in a motherfucking bar for decades?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I found out that most so-called experts talk out their asses all the time. Especially after a few drinks,” said Mash. “So maybe we could figure it out if we had a few drinks.”

  “I can’t drink.”

  “Me either. So how the fuck can we be an expert at anything?”

  “Are you two magic swords or magic chatterboxes?” asked an exasperated Bardulf.

  “What, we can’t have things to say?” asked Aargh.

  “You don’t have to let every thought in your head come out of your mouths.” The Ramekin moved the blue sword to his right hand and held up the swords to address them directly. “You two need to shut up. We can’t have every damn thing in the forest hearing us.”

  “Why not, motherfucker?” asked Mace. “We’ll chop them into little fucking pieces and keep going. No sweat.”

  “Because,” Bardulf said through gritted teeth, his grey eyes flashing with frustration. “You can only hurt the blue dragon, Aargh can only hurt the red dragon, and I don’t have any other weapons aside from you two useless, blabbering broadswords.”

  The swords were silent for a moment.

  “Point of order,” said Aargh. “We’re arming swords, not broadswords. Broadswords only have one bladed edge, we have two.”

  “Yeah, motherfucker! Who are you calling a broadsword? That’s some insulting shit right there.”

  “You bastards need to shut up.”

  “We sure aren’t bastard swords, either,” said the red sword. “It would be like calling you a baloney sandwich.”