“No, the critical point is that I was running my mouth and said something that caused you to— Never mind. Yeah, we could be in a fucking dragon.”
“If we are, then I’ll carve our way out,” said Bardulf, as he resumed the climb. He briefly wondered what dragon Fred had been in, but decided it matter for the moment. “If we aren’t, there is a way to leave and we’ll find it soon.”
Soon, the way was lit by the lanterns attached to the walls.
“Hey, B,” Fred said. “Those look like the same lanterns we saw Fosdick’s wine cellar.”
“Don’t look at me,” Queen Prunella looked at the Ramekin. “I've never spent any time at all in the dungeon. Why would I? I had people to go get me wine. Fosdick kept his projects down there and I never want to interfere with my husband’s hobbies. He’s got to have them, you know.”
Bardulf said nothing, but saw the sword was right. These lanterns did look like the ones in the dungeon of Castle Fosdick. After a short time, they arrived at a pair of doors similar to the doors in the castle’s wine dungeon.
The barbarian drew the sword from the keeper on his back. Not for the first time, he wished the sword was a different, more threatening color. But, he thought, at least it was a regular purple and not mauve. He reached out to open the door with his left hand, but paused when Fred changed his color to mauve.
“Sword,” he said, moving the blade closer to his face. “What are you doing?”
“Look, I thought you just asked me to change to mauve. I'm trying to cooperate.”
“Ooh, that’s pretty,” cooed the queen. “I mean, that’s a nice color. Do you have any others?”
“I could run up a fuchsia,” said Fred as he changed colors again. “But this is my favorite.”
“Periwinkle! I’ve always thought that was such a lovely color.”
“Could you maybe be a sword-colored sword?” The barbarian asked. “Would that be too much to ask?”
“Purple and related shades is all I can do,” Fred said as he faded from one color to another before arriving back at purple.
“I think you’re just gorgeous,” said Queen Prunella.
“The ladies do call me Fred Gorgeous.”
“Can we get on with your rescue now, Queen?” Bardulf asked, turning to Fred he continued. “And will you just stay a normal purple? You can glow when we are in a battle. That might serve to distract an enemy.”
“Okay,” both the sword and Prunella answered.
With that, Bardulf opened the door and they stepped into what turned out to be the wine dungeon. His cell was empty, but other than that it looked as they had left it. They went up the stairs and into Castle Fosdick.
From the amount of light, it was early afternoon on a beautiful spring day. The castle was quiet. The Royal Butler came around the corner, saw the queen, and stopped in his tracks.
“Majesty!”
“Yes. Is the king in his office?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent,” she said as she stepped off toward the king’s office. “That’ll be all. Carry on.”
Moments later they arrived at the King’s office. Queen Prunella opened the door and walked straight in, slightly peeved to see the royal butler had just entered from a different door. She smiled and greeted her husband.
“Fosdick, darling!”
The king looked up from his paperwork and jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over. He stepped out from the side of his desk, dashed toward Queen Prunella, and threw his arms around her. They stood for a moment in a firm embrace before breaking to hold hands and look around.
“I’m quite sure you know Bardulf and his remarkable sword, Fred.” She gestured to them. “If it wasn’t for them, I’d still be in the hands of that foul Sorcerer. There must be some sort of reward you can give him before you send him on his way.”
“Um, yes,” Fosdick said, turning toward the barbarian. “I remember him. Bardulf, you say? He even slew some dragons for us, didn’t he?.”
“Yes, dear.”
Bardulf watched the two with his arms folded, hoping Fred would keep his mouth, or whatever, shut.
Of Dragons and Dragonmen
Between the Prunella’s return and the conquest of Kingdom Fangnar, there were a lot of things that kept the king busy in the following days. Bardulf visited the tavern a few times looking for Mort, but he was usually nowhere to be found. It came as no surprise that the landlord welched on his agreement to give the barbarian free beer, arguing that Astra hadn’t returned. Bardulf didn’t care, he drank ale and ate fried crocodile, and paid for it.
His impatience was growing like the thick black stubble on his head, a soldier arrived at the tavern with a message for him from King Fosdick.
“Oh, there you are,” he said. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Figured you’d be in the castle, eating and drinking for free. I guess barbarians prefer taverns.”
“No,” Bardulf said with a frown. “I prefer freebies. Someone should have mentioned I could stay there.”
“Yeah, well. Bit late for that. Here’s a message from King Fosdick. He wants you to come to the castle.”
“Let’s go.”
“Aren’t you going to read the message?”
“Does it say ‘Please come to the castle, Bardulf the Ramekin’?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s to read, then?”
The soldier rubbed his chin as he considered this, said Bardulf made a fair point, and walked back to the castle with the barbarian, whose normally chatty sword had been quiet of late.
In the castle, Bardulf found himself at the table of the King’s War Council. They sat around a large table with a map and some green men on it. He knew all the people attending: Queen Prunella, Princess Natalie, Lord Rumsfeld, Exchequer Barster, Bishop Monk, Duke Farley. There was also a mousy looking woman he learned was Isabella, an academic of some sort. There were no chairs, so no one stood when the King arrived. They simply turned to greet him.
The King looked at the assembly and nodded his head.
“I see Mort the Wizard couldn’t make it.”
“Just because you can’t see me, doesn’t mean I’m not here,” crackled a voice in a dark corner. The shadow separated from the wall and became the familiar form of the wizard.
“Many dragons are dead,” the wizard continued. “Including the one you defeated at Castle Farley. It was the last natural dragon, known to the others as Flamey. It was a pet to the magical dragons.”
“Thank you, wizard,” the king said. “Dragonmen have invaded Fosdick, but we are driving them back. Greater Fosdick, however, is infested with them.”
“And dragon worship flourished under Fangnar,” spat Bishop Monk. “Curse his name. I hope his lord, Set, is devouring his soul.”
“His god isn’t Set, priest,” replied with the wizard. “It is Zamuk, the Ideal of Dragons. Zamuk and its general war leader Kalan, along with their hatchling are the last of the dragons. We can stop them from repopulating if we act with alacrity.”
“Bardulf and I saw a drawing with much information, including where to find the dragons. It matched no land I know.”
“You’ve said as much, sister,” Farley rumbled. “But information without knowledge is worthless.”
Bardulf reached into a pouch on his belt, retrieved a paper, unfolded it, and placed it on the table. It was a reproduction of the drawing they saw on the wall. Mort let out a barking laugh while the others remained silent.
“I’ve never heard of a barbarian who could draw,” said Lord Rumsfeld.
“I’m an artistic barbarian,” replied Bardulf with a shrug. “Sue me.”
“Is this a map of the Seven Realms?” asked Fosdick.
“It isn’t a map of this world,” replied Bardulf. “It is a map of this world and the things that connect the dragons. You can see the castles on a map. This is why the castles in Fosdick have strange things underneath them.”
Farley pointed to a castle. “This is Ca
stle Farley. It must be.”
“It is,” said the barbarian and the wizard at the same time.
“What is this thing connected to my castle?”
The wizard’s hood turned toward Bardulf, but he remained silent. Bardulf returned the gaze, nodded his head, and spoke to Farley.
“Zamuk,” the Ramekin said. “That is why no dragon ever tried to take your castle. It was already Zamuk’s. It dispatched the green dragon to destroy the castle after his brethren started to fall. It couldn’t allow me to travel though wyrm-space to its location. The beast is afraid.”
“I’m sorry, Bardulf, I think my hearing has gone off,” said Rumsfeld. “You said wyrm-space? What is that?”
“What y’all call dragons are actually wyrms and they are connected by wyrm-holes through wyrm-space,” said Fred. “It’s like the world is a shitty apple and you don’t know it.”
“That’s… quite an image, Fred. Thank you,” Natalie said. “So, they can send dragonmen though these wyrm-holes and attack us?”
“That would unravel the magic that keeps them together. You’d just have a bunch of folks wondering what the hell just happened,” replied Bardulf. “That’s why—”
“That’s why the Sorcerer’s guards were human. They were dragon worshipers. The Sorcerer was a dragonman, but he could pass through because he didn’t just use magic, he was the source of the magic,” said Prunella. “He was the one who made all the dragonmen.”
The wizard laughed. “No such luck. He was a one of my kind. He worshiped power and thought the way there was through the dragons. He transformed himself.”
The room fell silent.
“My headache is getting worse. Bardulf, would you please go kill the rest of these dragons? Farley, you and Natalie wipe out the dragonmen,” King Fosdick stood. “Oh, and joyous news. Prunella has been pregnant these past three months. Funny I’m just finding out.”
The meeting fell apart after that. Duke Farley and Princess Natalie huddled up to strategize about troop movement. The exchequer and the queen followed the king out. Bishop Monk and Rumseld left to discuss what was to be done about all the missing people in Greater Fosdick.
Before long only Bardulf and Mort were left in the room.
“It seems you have made your decision then, Bardulf. You will follow the Path of Might over the Path of Magic,” said Mort. “If you succeed you will not only end the Age of Dragons and the Age of Magic, you will bring in the Age of Man and the Age of War. Frankly, I didn’t think you were so bold.”
“I’m a barbarian, father. It’s part of the job description.”
“Yeah, that’s our man. Bold as shit, murderous as shit, and fat as shit,” said Fred. “But now I know why he hasn’t killed you yet.”
Bardulf the Ramekin’s father chuckled.
And then…
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Also, it would be very nice if you left a review. You don’t have to say a lot, simply put down the number of stars. For the text you can write something like “I read the book. Mace reminded me of a famous actor.” You don’t need to write much for the review to count.
A lot of times, authors will put the first chapter of the next book at the end of a book. Yeah, that’s not here. You’ll just have to read this.
First, let me introduce myself. Richard Hedley is a pen name, meaning it isn’t the author’s real name. It’s a name I used so this book doesn’t get confused with other books I’ve written.
Why would I do that?
To avoid confusion with other books I’ve written. If you’re looking for fantasy humor, you’re not looking for science fiction thrillers. Sending you to a place with both genres would be confusing.
For example…
If you were go looking for a Stephen King book, you’d find horror books. That’s what he writes. He also wrote Science Fiction under the name ‘Richard Bachman.’ Seeing Pet Semetary next to Running Man is confusing. So, writers make it simple and slap a different author name on the book.
The adventures of Bardulf have come a long way. When I started this book, he was actually fat, not accused of being fat by people who don’t know what a ton of muscles looks like. He was also fantastically wealthy because his grandmother patented the box. And his name was Barney Carton.
Then, I made the mistake of mentioning to a fellow writer that the story was based on the old arcade game ‘Adventure’ and he said, "Oh, GameLit!" That wasn’t my intention, but I let people persuade me to embrace that angle. So, I put in a few other old arcade games you might recognize: Pitfall, Break Out, Frogger, and Joust.
Did that work? No. It made things weird. I kept the scenes, but took out all the references to them being like games. The story flowed better and it helped the humor stand out.
So, it is with fits and starts that the Fat Barbarian Saga has launched.
Now, one thing I want to warn you about is my speed of writing. Some authors crank out a book a month or even every week. These people work like 80 hours a week and have a staff. I’m doing this myself and taking time to hang you with the wife and kids.
Fat Barbarian: A Humorous Fantasy Adventure (Fat Barbarian Saga Book 1) Page 18
