Dan the Warlord

by Hondo Jinx

  That era would soon come to an end.

  Even now, the workers were shutting off the gas flow, cutting and capping lines, and removing the dreadful torch.

  Meanwhile, the Root of Roots was healing. Tiny buds were popping up along the branches, and the bark looked darker and healthier with each passing hour. A faint sweetness suffused the air—a spring smell, a smell of health and home and hope.

  “What in the world are you doing?” a strident female voice demanded.

  Holly whipped around, not recognizing the voice—which was strange, as the voice, she now saw, belonged to her very own sister-wife.

  Not that Thelia looked much like herself at this moment. Thelia’s normally submissive face had twisted into a dark red mask of fury, punctuated by flaring eyes that burned with rage.

  For a fleeting instant, Holly feared that her sister-wife was about to incinerate her. But that was a ridiculous notion, of course, and Holly said, “Removing the roof, dear sister.”

  “You extinguished the eternal light!”

  “We couldn’t exactly remove the roof with that still burning, could we?”

  “What the Hades are you talking about?” Thelia shrieked. “That light has burned—had burned—without interruption for millennia!”

  Thelia’s anger hit Holly like a slap in the face. Her first notion was to respond in kind, but she thought better of it. “Allow me to explain, sweet sister,” Holly said. “I have wonderful news. Miraculous news. Est eel Est lives!”

  “Est eel Est?” Thelia said, looking confused. “The tree?”

  “Yes!” Holly cried, seizing the little woman by the shoulders. “Isn’t that wonderful? My people settled here because of this tree. They tended Est eel Est, and the tree gave them power and information. Everyone had assumed that it was dead, but I knew that the Root of Roots was only lying dormant. Somehow, I knew—”

  “We must relight the fire at once,” Thelia said.

  “That’s not going to happen,” Holly said, not liking the red elf’s tone. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

  Thelia gave her a dismissive wave. “The tree. Yes, I heard. I’m happy to learn that your tree lives, Holly, but that fact alone proves that the tree does not need open air. I’m sure with your prayers and attention, it will flourish even beneath the dome.”

  “Yes, Est eel Est can apparently survive without light,” Holly said. Inside, she’d gone as cold as a winter funeral. “But mere survival is only life… not living.”

  Thelia gave a humorless laugh. “Trust me, sister-wife, I understand the difference all too well.”

  “What the Hades is that supposed to mean?”

  Thelia rolled her eyes. “Forget it. In case you haven’t heard, war is coming. These are times for fire not gardening. Soon, the red elf nation will come home. They will expect to see the famous, undying fire of Flame Valley burning atop the keep.”

  “Perhaps my sister-wife has forgotten that this is no longer Flame Valley?”

  “Technicalities,” Thelia growled. “I am spreading the fire and gathering a great army of red elves, an army our husband will need to repel the invaders.” She pointed to a passing elf. “You! Yes, you. All demolition stops now. Spread the word. Restore the eternal flame immediately.”

  The elf smiled broadly and gave Thelia a deep bow. “Yes, Matriarch.”

  “Hold it right there, soldier,” Holly said to the worker. “Demolition continues.”

  “My lady?” the man said, looking back and forth between the women with a panicked expression.

  “You have your orders,” Thelia told the man. “Make my wishes known.”

  “Soldier, if you disobey me, you will regret it. Look me in the eyes.”

  “Please, my ladies,” the man said, bowing nervously and looking back and forth between them, not daring to meet the eyes of either woman. “I don’t want trouble. I’m just… I…”

  Thelia started to say something, but Holly spoke over her. As the daughter of the Iron Druid, she had given commands for decades in the grove. Now she called upon that deep experience, supercharging her voice, her glare, and her posture with dominance. “Soldier, you will forget this exchange and go about your business. Your original business. The matriarch and I will speak privately and announce any change in plans through the proper chain of command.”

  “Yes, my lady,” the man said with obvious relief. “Yes, my ladies.” And then, bowing several times, he backed away.

  Here and there, elves paused to stare.

  “Now,” Holly said, keeping her voice low as she rounded on Thelia. “Just what the fuck was that?”

  “I am the True Matriarch,” Thelia said, her fiery eyes narrowing. The little red woman was trembling with rage now. “That man is one of my people. Who do you think you are, contradicting my commands to one of my own?”

  “One of your own?” Holly said.

  “Yes, he—”

  “Do you love our husband?”

  “Of course,” Thelia said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Where does your loyalty lie?” Holly pressed. “With your husband or your race?”

  “I am loyal to both my husband and my people.”

  “But no one serves two masters. One loyalty must come first,” Holly said. “If your loyalties come into conflict, which do you serve, your husband or your race?”

  “My husband,” Thelia said, “which is why I am gathering an army for him.”

  “A not-so-gentle reminder, sweet sister,” Holly said. “You may be the True Matriarch, but I am Dan’s first wife. After Dan, I am the highest authority in this valley. Period. You do what I say, when I say it. Until our husband returns, my word is final. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Thelia said bitterly, and gave Holly the slightest of bows.

  At the same moment, Holly realized that at some point her fingers had slipped inside her purple cloak and wrapped around the wand of enchanted missiles. She released the wand as if she’d accidentally gripped a red-hot poker. What the Hades?

  Outwardly, Holly forced her face and voice to remain calm. “I am happy to hear that,” she said. “I appreciate your efforts to gather a fighting force, but my orders stand. The demolition continues. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Thelia snarled.

  “Good,” Holly said. “And Thelia? If you contradict my orders again, I’ll lock you in the dungeon until our husband returns.”

  Thelia glared at Holly, the gold flecks in her red irises wriggling like tiny dragons in a fiery womb.

  “I’m so happy that we can put this behind us,” Holly said, “but the workers are still watching us talk.” She forced a big smile onto her face and opened her arms. “Smile, sister-wife, and let them see you embrace me. That’s it. Yes. Smile, close your eyes. Hold it, hold it. Savor the moment. Let them see how much you cherish the first wife. Now let us break our embrace and kiss each other’s cheeks. And then you can get the fuck out of my sight.”

  Thelia stiffened in her arms but did as she was told, breaking the embrace, smiling warmly, and kissing Holly’s cheeks.

  A deep voice said, “Matriarch, how may I serve you?”

  Holly turned to see the speaker, jerked backwards, and cried out in terror. “Mooret!”

  But no. That wasn’t possible. The genocidal maniac had died thousands and thousands of years ago.

  By what dark magic had Mooret returned? And for what purpose?

  Thelia’s laughter burned like fire. “I’m so sorry that Parus startled you, sweet sister.”

  “Parus?” Holly said, badly confused. But her horrified mind examined the familiar face within the helm, and yes, it was Parus, though a strange, fierce light burned in his eyes.

  “Lady Holly,” Parus said with a slight nod. Everything about him—his voice, his eyes, even his muted gesture of respect—had changed.

  “I don’t understand,” Holly said, her voice tight with fear. “That’s the armor of Mooret. I recognize it from the tap
estry.”

  Parus smiled. “Yes, my lady. The armor of Mooret and the arms, as well.” He unsheathed his blade, which burst into red flames.

  Holly’s feet took a step backward. For several seconds, she could only stare, unable even to draw breath.

  Red elves crowded close, faces rapt. “Mooret…” they whispered with awe. “Mooret.”

  The arms and armor of Mooret, Holly thought, frozen with terror. What does this mean?

  Parus turned his back on her then and went to one knee before Thelia. “Matriarch, we have saddled the giant eagles. Your messengers are prepared to depart.”

  “Giant eagles?” Holly murmured.

  “The giant eagles have returned,” Thelia said, smiling triumphantly. “The Homecoming is upon us. Rise, Parus. Let us spread the fire.”

  Rigid with apprehension, Holly watched the pair depart the keep. Around her, red elves chattered excitedly, rejoicing, their labor forgotten. As if Holly were invisible. As if she were a ghost.

  “Mooret,” they said.

  “The giant eagles.”

  “The Homecoming.”

  “The second rise of the red elves.”

  At some point, Holly’s hand had again latched onto the wand of enchanted missiles. This time, she did not release her grip.

  18

  Getting Wild in the Wildervast

  Dan kicked the decapitated troll’s head and sent it rolling across the wiry grass, which was coated in putrid green blood.

  Behind Dan, his clamoring horde cheered with all the bloodlust in their murderous hearts.

  The troll’s severed limbs wriggled toward its torso, which lay split and twitching upon the ground, spilling a ropy tangle of pulsing black intestines like the world’s most disgusting pinata.

  Ula handed Dan the torch, which he held close to the troll’s bloody face. The scabbed black lips peeled back from jagged brown teeth, and the troll let out a hiss of loathing.

  “See this, fucker?” Dan said. “I’m ready to burn you and your tribe to ash.”

  The decapitated head spat and rocked back and forth, trying desperately to escape fiery death.

  Turning to Mahgreet, Dan said, “Translate my words. Tell him that he is no match for me.”

  Dan paused, and the serious red elf officer crouched down before the troll and spoke its awful language.

  “I am very powerful,” Dan said. “Stop hissing, or I will burn your head.”

  Mahgreet relayed the message.

  The troll stopped hissing.

  “I am Dan, Warlord of the Wildervast, and I own this valley.”

  Mahgreet interpreted.

  The troll started to hiss—but went silent when Dan lowered the torch to within inches of its huge, ugly head.

  Dan summed up the situation, keeping it concise for the trolls.

  He had learned much in the weeks he had spent on the road, gathering swords for the coming war. The first few days, he had done a lot of killing. But as the days passed, the leaves fell, and the nights grew colder, he had come to understand his valley and its denizens, each tribe of which demanded its own approach.

  He had won over the orcs by demolishing their strongest warriors, mowing down a few ranks with the Fist, and promising blood and treasure.

  The hill giants responded when Dan spoke of their glorious past and dwindling numbers, then joined his ranks when he explained that the invaders would love nothing more than to wipe giants from the earth.

  Having heard about Dan’s prowess, the hobgoblins had opened negotiations preemptively and were ultimately won over by Dan’s stoic demeanor, the now huge monster army behind him, and Ula’s input, which had focused not on stoking hatred for the invaders but rather on troop numbers, the Fists, the impregnable fortress, and Thelia’s fire magic.

  Tribe by tribe, through strength, charisma, and understanding, he had won over the barbarians and monsters.

  Trolls were a less sophisticated lot. He spoke to their dismembered leader bluntly and truthfully.

  “You will come and fight beside me,” Dan said, and paused for Mahgreet to speak the hissing, throaty language that sounded less like speech and more like she was trying to cough up a chicken bone. “Otherwise, I will burn you and your tribe. Do you understand?”

  The troll understood.

  Dan nodded, satisfied. Another victory.

  The trolls would need watching and perhaps reminders. But his part was done. He had kicked the shit out of them and delivered his message. He could pass their management on to Ula, who would assign whatever minders she saw fit.

  Things were coming together.

  Because monster girls made humans so rare in the Wildervast, his barbarian horde, which numbered nearly one thousand warriors now, was actually a monster army. With every passing mile and every additional victory, the horde grew not only larger but also more loyal. Now numbering nearly one thousand warriors, the army chanted his name and raised the swords which they had pledged to his cause.

  Together, they would obliterate the outsiders.

  Obliterate them and, if Boad and the Mullet Men had their way, fuck them and their livestock with many thousand penises.

  Soon, Dan would meet Agatha’s family and hire the cyclopes to build the Mother of all Fists, a howitzer big enough to blast the duke’s train all the way back to Harrisburg.

  After hiring the cyclopes, Dan would travel to the Interior Sea, meet the Duke of Harrisburg, and do his best to forge a temporary alliance with the enemy of his enemy. Based on what little Dan knew, the Duke of Pittsburgh was also some kind of war hero. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, Dan felt confident that showing up to the meeting with a thousand fanatical monsters would improve his bargaining position.

  Then Dan would sweep up the western mountains and return home along a northerly route, gathering swords every step of the way. By the time he returned to his fortress, Dan would ride at the front of a massive monster army, the true Warlord of the Wildervast ready to decimate his enemies.

  That night, they camped upon a large meadow sheltered from the strongest winds by wooded hills to either side.

  Dan swept another fistful of steaming venison from the fireside and bit off a big chunk, cursing as he chewed and swallowed the scalding-hot meat.

  Ula chortled to his left, “sharpening” her magical axe.

  To his right, Nadia laughed. “Dude, the fuck is wrong with you? Wait for it to cool down, you animal.”

  “Hungry,” Dan said, cramming more of the steaming venison into his mouth.

  Nadia rolled her eyes. “Barbarian.” Then, as if nothing in the world could be more natural, she unzipped his fly and started pumping him slowly up and down with her hand, which was slick with grease.

  Dan pulled her close and kissed the crown of her brunette head. He swallowed the last of the meat and reached for his ale, which he drank from the skull of his enemy, an ogre chieftain that had challenged Dan to single combat.

  The skull made a good goblet. Sealed and cured by a gnollish shaman, the oversized ogre skull held enough ale to pack a wallop. It would serve until Dan could drink from his preferred vessel: the skull of the Duke of Harrisburg.

  He took another pull, savoring the ale, the meat, the crackling fire, and his wife’s stroking hand.

  Life was good.

  Around the neighboring campfires, his soldiers ate and laughed and fucked. The red elves were lusty. The half-orcs were lewd. The green elves remained clannish, sticking to their own fire, where they no doubt complained about something, but even their bitter souls had been touched by the spirit of the Wildervast. They complained less, smiled more, and had started to mingle with the other races, even the half-orcs and a few of the tribesmen.

  Wild elation crackled through the horde, a thousand monsters united beneath a powerful warlord bent on butchering outsiders. They had meat and drink and promise of war. What more could a monster army want?

  So the barbarians, too, ate and laughed and fucked. Th
ey sang songs in Dan’s glory—most of which, as far as Dan could tell, basically amounted to “Dan is strong! Dan will kill the outsiders with his three-bladed sword!”—and songs about the Fist, which fascinated them so much that the gun had become something like a high priest to Dan.

  The goblins were particularly enamored with the Fist, so much so that they frequently offered up their weakest members for target practice. Needless to say, Dan rejected these offers, but he stoked the goblins’ fascination by saying he wouldn’t use the Fist on such trivial victims.

  Yeah, the goblins were crazy fuckers. Just like the rest of them. Crazy but useful. And he was surprised to realize just how much he had come to like the savages.

  Their fanaticism and utility helped, but those things were secondary. He liked the barbarians for their barbarism. They lived short, violent lives. He appreciated their brutal straightforwardness, laughed at their gallows humor, and admired the way they lived in the moment, giving their all to the task at hand, whether that was fighting, sleeping, or singing, “We will fuck their cows!” at the top of their lungs.

  Yes, he liked them. Very much. And he loved this country.

  Beyond the sentries, Freedom Valley sprawled away in darkness. How Dan loved this wild, beautiful land with its lush fields, rushing rivers, and abundant wildlife. He had never breathed such fresh air; never tasted such cold, clean water; never eaten such sweet berries or savory meat. All this he loved—and he loved his people, who had come fully alive, embracing the spirit of this savage land.

  Most of them had gotten barbaric, anyway.

  Across the fire, Agatha bounced her leg, picking daintily at the venison and sneaking glances at what Nadia was doing.

  Ula laughed again and pointed at the pretty cyclops. “Agatha eek-eek deel boon fadoop.”

  Agatha blushed deep pink and shook her head emphatically. “No, that’s not true. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I didn’t know what she was doing, so I looked.” But even as the beautiful cyclops protested, her eye flicked again to Dan’s lap, where he had swollen to full hardness.

  “Wait your turn, girlfriend,” Nadia said, kneeling between Dan’s legs and pulling down his pants. “I’m fadooping his deel right now.”