by Tom Gallier
BARBARIAN OF ELYSIA
Adventures in Elysia
By
Tom Gallier
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Rowdy Rooster Publishing
Copyright 2019 by Thomas W. Gallier, Jr.
Cover by Willsin Rowe
Cover Art by PGandara
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and locations within either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
List of other titles
About the author
Barbarian of Elysia
By Tom Gallier
“Finally,” Alex said, shoulders slumped as he stared at the imposing iron gates.
Just three days earlier he'd learned that his Uncle Theodore Hardcourt had passed away. He knew he should be sad, but had never met his great uncle. Uncle Theodore had run away as a teen, and the family had never heard from him again. They had assumed him dead.
As the last living Hardcourt, Alex inherited everything. As yet he didn't know what that entailed; the letter merely informed him that he'd find out when he arrived at Hardcourt Manor. And here he was, though it was after midnight, dark, and cold.
“I'm SOL if they don’t let me in,” he muttered and pushed the button on the gate intercom. He could see bits and pieces of the sprawling manor house on the hilltop in the moonlight, lights on and looking inviting. An ancient sounding voice answered on the third buzz. “Hello! Hello, sir, I'm Alex Hardcourt. I got a message to come here as soon as possible.”
“Hmmm,” was the answer. “I'll meet you at the door.”
The great wrought iron gates screeched and squealed on rusty hinges as they slowly opened. One of those fingernails on chalkboard sounds. Alex grimaced and hunched over, rushing through and up the cobblestone drive. The gates reversed direction the second he passed through. He paused, looking back and then all around. Cameras?
Didn't matter. He still had a hike to reach the house.
“You'd think as the new owner of this place the staff would eagerly come down and pick me up in a nice, warm car,” he muttered, holding his collar closed against a fierce gust of frigid wind. “I hate the cold.”
Alex grew up in a small town east of San Diego. He was poor, but at least there he could easily keep warm. Upper Michigan did not rank high on his choices of places to visit, much less live, especially in late autumn. He couldn't see the house very well, but it was obviously huge. If the estate wasn't saddled with debt, then he could sell it and move to Hawaii or Cancun. Somewhere it never got cold, with lots of hot, tan women with which to enjoy his newfound wealth.
“I could live a little la vida loca for a while,” he said, his mind drifting to the tropics and hot, passionate Latinas. “Oh yeah.”
The trek up to the house took longer than he anticipated. The long drive snaked through the wooded grounds, taking him out of sight of the house at times. The house proved larger than he originally thought, and it looked quite spooky.
“I definitely need to sell this place,” he said, staring up at its three levels and many gables. “I think a nice place on the beach would be perfect.”
The front door loomed above him, ten feet tall, painted black. It swung open at his approach. A tall, rail thin man with a shock of snow white hair stepped into the doorway. His eyes were dark and detached, looking down a huge hawkish nose at Alex. He wore a black tuxedo, with a bowtie.
How does he do that? Alex thought. Though just as tall as the man, and more muscular, he felt so small and insignificant within that gaze. Aloud, he said, “Hello. I'm Alexander Hardcourt.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” he said, not looking particularly pleased. “I'm Charles, the butler, at your service.”
“Wow, that's a relief,” Alex said, and grinned. “I thought you were going to introduce yourself as Count Dracula or something.”
“Droll,” Charles said. He stepped aside, waving Alex in. “Welcome home, sir.”
“Thank you,” Alex said, quickly slipping past him.
The inside appeared much nicer than the outside suggested. It still looked like something out of a vampire movie, but rather than movie props, everything boasted the highest quality. Alex started feeling better about his prospects.
“Nice. So, what did dear ole Uncle Theo do to earn his fortune?”
“Investments,” Charles said. “It is late, sir, do you require a meal before retiring?”
Alex glanced at a grandfather clock. He was surprised at the time. Just past midnight. More surprising was the size of the clock, which was easily ten feet tall.
“Friendly sort, aren't you?”
“I'm not paid to be friendly, sir,” the butler said, arching an eyebrow.
“Ah, well, yes,” Alex said, feeling like a kid put in his place. “A little something to eat would be nice, thank you.”
“Follow me, please,” Charles said, and then turned and strode away.
The old guy could move. They went though sumptuously appointed rooms filled with expensive looking art and antique furnishings. None of it to Alex's tastes. However, the speed with which Charles moved didn’t give him the chance to dally and study any of it, either.
It's probably well past the old guy's bedtime, he thought. I'll have plenty of time to look around tomorrow.
As they walked, things began to move and squirm at the corner of his eyes. When Alex looked, everything looked normal. If he looked straight ahead and refused to look left or right, then darkness began creeping in from all sides.
“If you prefer, I can serve you in the formal dining room, but this is where your late uncle took his meals,” Charles said when they entered a small room with a round table.
He waited to see if the weirdness continued, but this room seemed fine. No darkness at the edge of his vision. No squiggly things taunting him. He merely saw the four chairs arranged around the round table, with an open doorway into the butler's pantry and the kitchen beyond.
“This is fine,” Alex said, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Excellent,” Charles said, pulling out a chair for him. A middle-aged woman in a gray maid uniform came out of the butler's pantry with a plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, and glass of red wine. “Thank you, Isadora.”
“Wow, you people are efficient,” he said, taking a seat and draining half of the wine right away. Isadora frowned at him as she left, but he stopped Charles before the butler could retire. “So, Charles, do you know exactly how much my late uncle's estate is worth?”
“Something over eight hundred million, I do believe, sir.”
“All mine?”
“All yours, sir.”
For a second he couldn't breathe. His heart hammered. It felt like winning the
lottery.
He ate in silence, his mind racing with all the wonderful things that kind of wealth would buy him. The world's most beautiful women were his to pick from, and he would take them to the most exclusive restaurants and Hollywood parties. Hell, his days of partying with construction workers and bikers were over. From now on Alex would party with rock stars.
“I'll show you to the master bedroom, sir,” Charles said when he finished his plate. “I'm sure you are weary after your trip from California.”
“It wouldn't have been so bad if someone sent a jet to pick me up, instead of making me take the bus,” he said. They were moving through those creepy rooms again. His teeth were on edge, goose-flesh rippling down his back. “It took three days to get here.”
“Dreadful, I'm sure,” Charles said. “But no one here is authorized to spend any of your inheritance, sir.”
Halfway up the stairs, Alex glanced left to see a ghoulishly white face staring up out of the shadows. He called to Charles and pointed, but the face wasn't there when he looked again. Stopping, he turned around and studied the opulent entry foyer. Really, it was more of an entry hall. It was larger than any apartment he'd ever lived in.
“Charles.”
“Sir?”
“Is this place haunted?”
“Some think so, sir,” Charles said. “I've not noticed anything untoward.”
“You wouldn't,” he said under his breath.
I'm putting this place up for sale tomorrow, Alex thought, continuing up the stairs.
The master bedroom encompassed more room than any place Alex had ever lived in his life. The fireplace alone stood six feet tall. The sprawling, dark, ominous looking bedroom looked as if a witch had decorated it. Old flintlock rifles and swords hung mounted on the wall, along with portraits of men in armor and half-naked women. Okay, the women were mostly naked. In one corner stood an easel with a three-quarters complete portrait of an exotic, dark-skinned beauty in nothing but gold jewelry.
“Master Theodore was quite an accomplished portrait artist,” Charles said, seeing where Alex was looking. “The paintings on the walls were all people he met in his many…travels.”
Alex gave the paintings a wary look. His uncle had true talent. Those paintings looked almost like photographs. Yet, after walking through that spooky old mansion, he didn't like the idea of sleeping in a room filled with such perfect portraits.
“The people in these paintings don't move, do they?”
Charles raised a brow as he turned to the door, “I would think not, sir.”
“Thank you, Charles,” Alex said, glancing at the king-sized, four-poster bed. His second wind departed, and he felt suddenly bone-tired. “Good night.”
“Sleep well, sir,” Charles said, pausing at the door. The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Enjoy.”
With that the butler turned to go. Charles flipped the light switch off as he left, plunging the room into darkness. Alex froze, afraid to look around for a long moment. The only light remaining came from a small lamp on the nightstand.
Hurrying over to the bed, which someone had kindly turned down for him, he quickly stripped to his shorts and slipped between the sheets. He reveled it the luxury. He'd never dreamed sheets could feel so expensive, so sensual. For a moment he forgot how the old mansion creeped him out.
“Life is good,” Alex whispered with a big smile as he relaxed, and then darkness enveloped him.
Chapter 2
“What?” Alex said, then gagged and hacked up rancid water.
Strangers were pulling his arms. He felt so heavy, and cold. And wet. He looked around, discovering he lay in a muddy river being pulled into a strange looking wooden boat. Then he remembered he had fallen asleep in a king-sized bed, in an old spooky mansion.
The men hauling him out of the water shouted at each other in a language he'd never heard, yet understood perfectly. He looked around and didn’t recognize the place. Blinking the water from his eyes, he saw a city along the river to his left.
“Where am I?” he said, and coughed to clear his throat and lungs. That wasn't his voice, and why did he speak in that other language. Alex tried to speak English, but it came out the other language, “Who are you?”
Nothing he did cleared his odd sounding voice, the change probably due to all the water still burning his lungs. He hacked up some more rancid water.
They unceremoniously dumped him on the rough deck. The men backed away, but continued to stare down at him. They were all burly and bearded, skin bronzed from a lifetime in the hot sun. All they wore were loose undyed pants that barely dropped below their knees. Not a shoe or shirt on any of them.
A big mean-looking man pushed through them. He had curly black hair, beard, and fierce eyes. To Alex's mind, he appeared dressed like a Roman soldier, in metal cuirass, a short pleated leather skirt, and boots.
“Declare yourself,” the soldier demanded.
Alex stared at him a long second. None of it made sense. I'm dreaming!
What a dream. And who said you didn't dream in color? Color, sound, odor, muggy heat, and more flooded his senses. Lots of searing heat. And annoying biting flies.
I bet it's this spooky old house I'm asleep in, he thought. And all those swords on the walls, and paintings of medieval soldiers and naked chicks. Wait, where are the naked chicks?
“I have nothing to declare,” he said. “Except I don’t know what the hell is going on here. Where am I? Dreamland?” Alex looked the man up and down. “Nice skirt. Who are you wearing?”
“What?” the armored man said, scowling. The men with him looked back and forth at each other, a few making the crazy sign next to their head. “I am Kroisos, Master of the King’s Guard.”
“Ooookay,” Alex said. “I am Alex. Master of Hardcourt Manor.”
My dream, so I can be anyone I want, he thought.
“Captain Kroisos,” one of the other men said. “I recognize him. He is Har, the Champion of Jarn.”
“Huh?” Alex said. “Hey, this is my dream. I’m Alex.”
Oddly enough, he actually knew that Jarn was a northern kingdom. Alex even had mental images of it. Very strange.
“Alexandros?”
“Whatever.”
Kroisos glared at him a long moment, and then shook his head. Other men grinned, nodding. Apparently, they’d all decided he was crazy or something.
“We’ll let King Talos decide your fate, warrior,” Kroisos said. He held out his hand. “Surrender your arms.”
“How the hell can I do that?” he said. Then he noticed several of the men looking at his waist. That’s when he realized he wore a sword. Indeed, he wore nothing but linen pants, boots, and sword belt. A straight sword, long knife, and a leather coin purse hung from that belt. He was also a lot taller and more muscular than he originally realized. Like Conan the Barbarian big. “Holy crap. This dream’s getting better. Is there a damsel to save?”
Kroisos looked like he was getting pissed. So Alex pulled the sword, and handed it over hilt first. Odd how he knew exactly how to handle it. Visions of thrusts and parries filled his head, and for a split second his mind filled with guesses on the skills and threats each man offered. He actually concluded that he could defeat Kroisos in a fight.
Alex’s hands were huge, powerful, and callused. The raw strength he felt within himself amazed him, something he never had in his real body. He glanced down at his arms to see blond hair on them. And that’s when he realized he had long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Along with a goatee and mustache.
I’m Jesus on steroids.
Kroisos accepted his sword and turned away. He started calling orders, and everyone scrambled around. Soon the other men were manning oars, and the boat was surging across the river. Their boat headed toward the city, which stretched out along the river. It looked like some kind of desert city in a movie about biblical times. He saw high, whitewashed walls, soaring towers, and exotic looking people.
“Holy crap!”
“Never see an airship before, warrior?” one of the oarsmen said, and the others laughed.
Alex gawked up at it. The ship looked like an old pirate ship, with three masts and a whole lot more sails. As it descended, the side sails were pulled in and he watched it slowly settle into the river. Another smaller boat went out to greet it.
His boat beached on a sandy shore. Men jumped off and started forcing it up higher on the beach. Kroisos motioned to him, and then jumped off onto the ground. Alex followed, and the big armored man led him towards a group of people. They were all reclining on pillows atop low couches. Most were very young, very beautiful women.
Incredibly scantily clad women.
“Is this some kind of toga party or something?” Alex asked Kroisos, who ignored him.
“Do not speak before King Talos unless you are asked a question,” Kroisos said.
Alex looked around. They seemed to be inside an enclosed compound. High stone walls went out into the river to either side. Manicured grass started about twenty feet from the shore, and the guests were all reclining under white silken tents. Kind of like cloth cabanas around a Vegas swimming pool. Low tables laden with meats, fruits, and vegetables lay within easy reach. Most of the people he saw were obviously staff. They wore white linen loincloths. Soldiers lined all of the walls, looking fierce and grim, surrounding the privileged few.
Royalty? Alex thought. The couches all sat on a wooden dais, constructed in three tiers. One man reclined atop the highest tier. He must be the aforementioned king.
Kroisos stopped before the wooden dais and dropped to one knee. King Talos looked to be around fifty, with salt and pepper hair and beard. He was a fierce looking man, but that’s not what Alex immediately noted. The man was practically naked.
“Your Majesty,” Kroisos said. He slanted a threatening look back at Alex, who quickly dropped to one knee. “The man floating in the river is alive. He claims to be Alexandros of Hardcourt Manor, but others say they know him as Har, Champion of Jarn.”
