Dan the Warlord

by Hondo Jinx

  “What’s happening, Lady Holly?” Goldfinch asked.

  Holly took the girl by her narrow shoulders and smiled. “Everything will be all right, sweet child. I need you and Toad to take Freckles someplace quiet. Someplace where you won’t be found until we come for you. Do you understand?”

  Goldfinch nodded, sniffing.

  Toad brightened. “We could hide in the bread hole.”

  Holly turned to the girl and raised an eyebrow.

  Toad told her about the tiny room above the kitchens. No one ever went there, and the smells of baking bread wafted up from the kitchen below.

  “Excellent,” Holly said. “Hide there until we come for you.”

  “What is going on?” Freckles asked. “You’re all frightened. Why are you frightened?”

  Holly pulled the pretty half-elf into an embrace. “Please try not to worry,” she said. “We are frightened, but all will be well soon enough. Now off with you, so we can take care of this situation and help you remember everything.”

  After the children had led Freckles away, Holly summoned her courage. “Tatiana, Moro, please stay here and protect my mother. I must go alone and speak with Thelia.”

  The she-panther’s eyes flared with concern. “Let me come with you, Lady Holly. It’s not safe.”

  Holly smiled sadly. “No, it isn’t safe, but it is necessary. You will stay here and look after Mother.”

  “We will all go,” her mother said.

  “No,” Holly said. “We would seem a committee.” And Parus is probably with Thelia. “This is a conversation for sister-wives only.”

  “My Lady,” Tatiana said. “Are you certain this is wise? Lady Thelia has changed so much. I fear for your safety.”

  She’s right, Holly thought. This isn’t wise. It’s foolish. Dangerously so. Perhaps even fatally so. But I have to try. I have to try and hope that Thelia still loves Dan and us sister-wives enough to still hear my words.

  Holly’s mother touched her arm. “Thelia is likely enthralled by the combined power of the matriarchal fire and the arms and armor of Mooret,” her mother said. “Perhaps Tatiana is right. Your sister-wife clearly meant for you to know that she had pilfered the scrolls. She no doubt anticipated your reaction. Perhaps this is a trap.”

  Holly shook her head. “Thelia is our only chance. She may or may not be enthralled, but Parus is gone. We might as well be facing Mooret himself. I need to speak with Thelia alone and make her see what’s happening before it’s too late. If father and the others arrive before I return, please keep them here. And if any red elves drop by, act like nothing is wrong. If Parus learns of our plans…”

  “If Parus learns of our plans,” a deep voice said darkly, “what?”

  And Parus stepped into the room, wearing the ancient black armor of the madman who had nearly destroyed the grey elf race.

  28

  A Change in Plans

  “I don’t like it, either,” Dan said to the small group that had surrounded him upon his return to shore. “And I don’t like Manrose. But we have no other choice. We can’t afford a two-front war.”

  “Foondek,” Ula said, and spat on the stony shore.

  “Girlfriend has a point,” Nadia said. “You trust this guy?”

  “No,” Dan admitted. “But he has 30,000 troops, so I don’t think it matters much whether I trust him or not. Chieftains, rally your men. We ride for the fortress.”

  The dozen monster chiefs roared loudly, each trying to outdo the others as usual.

  Fuckers didn’t hear a word I said, Dan thought. They just want to fight. Period.

  Boad beat his gorilla chest, his gray-streaked mullet waving in the breeze. Then he stepped forward and jarred Dan with a good-natured slap to the shoulder. “The Mullet Men ride with Dan. No army can stand against our warlord. He will cut the train-beast in half with his mighty sword of three blades.”

  Dan didn’t say shit. Setting these guys straight about trains wasn’t on the top of his to-do list right now.

  “He will pluck out the cowards hiding inside the train-beast and eat them like roe from a sturgeon,” Boad continued. The gorilla-man was working himself and the other monster-chiefs into a frenzy now. “Dan will fuck their women and make babies who will spit on the graves of their ancestors.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Dan said. He had come to realize that Boad and most of the barbarians didn’t put much value on mathematics. Telling them you were going to fight an army of fifteen thousand only meant you were going to fight a big army.

  “Dan will fuck their mules in the ass,” Darg, the orcish leader, proclaimed. “Dan will fuck their mules in the ass until they die!”

  Dan smiled uncomfortably, reminding himself that one of the most important roles of a leader was delegating certain tasks. “You, Darg, will be my mule-fucker.” He nodded to the huge orc, who showed him a mouthful of yellow teeth. Then, panning the expectant faces of the other chiefs, Dan added, “And you men will help him. There will be many mules to fuck to death.”

  The monster-men roared with savage elation.

  “Now go get your troops ready,” Dan said. “We ride!”

  The chieftains howled with enthusiasm and set off to gather their barbarians.

  “Foondek,” Ula repeated, shaking her head.

  “Cool,” Nadia said, walking alongside Dan. “So that’s the plan, huh? Cut the train in half and fuck some mules?”

  “Basically,” Dan said. “After we, you know, kill a fuck-ton of people, including a bunch of wizards.”

  “Oh,” Nadia said. “Great. What are we really going to do?”

  Dan shrugged. “I don’t know. Fight. But I won’t be able to get much more specific than that until Zamora returns.”

  Nadia and Ula nodded. Dan hadn’t mentioned his preparations to the monster chieftains—what would have been the point?—but Nadia and Ula had known that Dan had asked Zamora to follow him invisibly onboard to gather information.

  The wind sylph would lurk on Manrose’s galley until she gleaned his real plans. Then she would fly back and rejoin the army.

  “If Manrose is true to his word, he will build his winter camp on this shore, and his big-ass army will be right behind us when we clash with the Duke of Harrisburg. If Zamora learns that he’s full of shit—and my gut says he is—we’ll figure out what to do based on that knowledge. Either way, this ends in battle.”

  Dan whistled, and Granite trotted over to meet him. The big old warhorse still had too much self-respect to nuzzle Dan or anything like that, but Granite let Dan stroke his neck without baring his big, square teeth. “You’re going home, boy,” Dan said. “Going home to war.”

  The horse’s big eyes rolled, and he shied backward.

  What the Hades? Dan thought, or was beginning to think, because somewhere between the and Hades, a powerful wind rushed past, curled back around, and zoomed up to his side.

  Zamora materialized, her blue eyes shining brightly, her long, ethereal hair wavering overhead like blue flames.

  “That was fast,” Dan said. Then, reading her troubled expression, he said, “What’s wrong?”

  The gorgeous wind nymph pulled a tiny leather scroll case from the waistline of her billowy harem pants. “This, Master,” she said, handing him the leather tube. “Manrose penned this letter as soon as you left his chambers. Then he summoned a wizard, who magically transmitted the message.”

  Dan opened the case, pulled out the scroll, and started reading.

  To the Esteemed Duke of Harrisburg,

  The barbarian rides for home, leading an army of monsters, approximately one thousand strong, marching under the double assumption that you are my enemy and that he and I are allies.

  Strike now, before he arrives. Take the fortress, no matter the cost. Kill his wives. Especially the fire mage.

  My forces march on the morrow. When we darken the western horizon, abandon the fortress. Cite my overwhelming numbers.

  Know that my forces will give cha
se—but only halfheartedly. You have my word as a gentleman that we will not pursue you into the Jungle Kingdom and that the remainder of your handsome reward will be awaiting you in Harrisburg.

  To the Victors go the spoils,

  TM

  Dan’s narrowed eyes dwelled on the loathsome initials.

  TM.

  Theobroma Manrose.

  The legendary and honorable admiral-duke and arch-asshole of the universe.

  “Oh no,” Nadia said. The color had drained from her face.

  “Fuck these guys,” Dan said. He had expected some kind of bullshit, but not this. Manrose had bought off the Duke of Harrisburg. “Fuck them all to Hades.”

  “Master,” Zamora said breathlessly. “Shall I hurry home and warn Holly and Thelia?”

  “No,” Dan said. He had gone cold with fury.

  Kill his wives.

  “No?” Nadia said. “What the fuck are you talking about? The duke isn’t attacking in the spring. He’s attacking right now. If we don’t warn Holly—”

  “We must trust Holly to handle this,” Dan said. He hated speaking the words almost as much as he hated the looks that Nadia, Ula, and Zamora were giving him. But he had to do the right thing, even if it put his loved ones at risk. Unlike the monster chieftains, Dan did put stock in numbers, and he couldn’t ignore a number like 30,000. “We must trust Thelia and Parus and everyone else. We must trust the fortress and the Fists.”

  “You’re not making any sense!” Nadia said. “Send Zamora now. Warn Holly. And we’ll ride like Hades to get there as fast as we can. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Dan pointed to the armada anchored off-shore. “We can’t have 30,000 troops smashing into us from behind. This is our one chance to prevent that. If I send Zamora home now, I’ll doom all of us. Zamora, I need you here.”

  And he told them what he was going to do.

  Nadia wept, obviously terrified for her sister-wives, but nodded. Zamora wavered like a gas flame, ready to do his bidding. Ula, bless her warlike heart, grinned darkly.

  “We’ll never make it home in time,” Nadia said, giving voice to the fear gnawing at Dan’s gut.

  “No,” he said. “We won’t.” Even if they charged hard all the way home, it would take three or four days. Probably four.

  The Duke of Harrisburg had 15,000 soldiers. If that was all, Holly might be able to hold the fortress until Dan returned.

  But the fucker had wizards, too, and Dan would never forget Roderick’s sorcerers smashing through the defenses of Fire Ridge.

  “Ula and I will round up the others and start for the fortress,” Nadia said.

  Dan shook his head. “I want them to see this.”

  “We should go,” Nadia said. “Every second counts now.”

  Again, Dan shook his head. “If I’m going to ask the horde to follow me into Hades, they need to think I’m a war god.”

  Impulsively, he grabbed his green-eyed wife and kissed her deeply. Then he hauled Ula into an embrace, and their tongues wrestled while his heart pounded fiercely in his chest. Finally, he placed his hands on Zamora’s pale cheeks and kissed her softly on the forehead, making her smile.

  “You know what to do, my terrible beauty,” he said.

  Zamora nodded, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “I do, Master, but I just hope—”

  “You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “More than fine. You’ll be magnificent.”

  She’d better be magnificent, he thought, or we’ll all be in Hades before sundown.

  Dan crossed the muddy ground and slapped the side of the wagon parked near the water’s edge. Tolla the green elf sharpshooter sat beside the gun, rolling a steel sphere in her hand and trying to look bored.

  “Wake up, Tolla,” Dan said, climbing up and getting into position behind the Fist. “We’re going hot!”

  29

  Blood and Fire

  Holly reached inside her cloak and closed her fingers around the wand of enchanted missiles.

  Parus smiled at her. Or rather, the man who had once been Parus smiled at her. It was clear now through his smile, his flaming eyes, and his uncharacteristically deep voice, that Parus was lost.

  “Please tell me, Lady Holly,” the man in black armor said. “Tell us all what Parus will do if he learns of your plans. As to the plans, they’re simple enough to divine, I suppose. You’re hoping to influence Thelia against me. Don’t bother.

  “Thelia is the True Matriarch, and I am, as you seemed to have guessed, the second coming of Mooret. Even now, red elves from the great beyond stream toward Flame Valley. The Homecoming has begun, and with it, the second rising of the red elves.”

  His upper lip peeled back in a menacing snarl. “Only this time, I will complete the Subjugation, and I will not allow my people to disappoint the gods by falling again into sloth. This time, we will burn everything and rise immortal, transcending flesh and time and the gods themselves.” He balled his mailed hands into fists. “There is so much fire in me. So much power!”

  Tatiana stepped in front of Holly, holding the staff of smiting in both hands across her waistline. Not an aggressive stance, but a ready one.

  The mad red elf focused his flame-spun eyes on the black panther woman. “How noble. What’s your plan, cat-girl? Going to hit me with that fancy stick of yours like you did in sparring?”

  “Parus,” Tatiana said, keeping her voice level. “We are friends, you and I. All the times we’ve trained together, sparred together.”

  “This isn’t sparring,” he said, “and I’m no more Parus than I am your friend.” His eyes flicked to Moro, who for once wasn’t shouting threats. The young soldier looked as pale as he had the night Holly had narrowly saved him from death in Rothrock Forest. “And you, boy. Where are your threats now? Where are your bold demands? Eh? Has the courage drained out of you like so much piss down your leg? Going to let these women do your fighting for you? Typical grey elf male!”

  “You’ll pay for your insults!” Moro shouted, yanking his sword from its sheathe. His eyes were wild with fear and rage, self-doubt and the desperate need for his people to see him as a man.

  “Stop!” Holly said, putting every ounce of regal command into the single word.

  Moro cast her a searching glance, and in his eyes, Holly registered a heartbreaking glimmer of hope—not hope that he would defeat Parus but hope that Holly would save him from the knight in black plate.

  “In case you hadn’t inferred as much, Holly,” the red elf said, staring not at her but at Moro, “I am through taking orders from you. At one time, I thought—foolishly now, I see—that my people could rise again without a reenactment of the Night of Burning. But that is clearly not the case. I do not wish to cut you down. I much prefer to leave you to Thelia’s fire. But if you force my hand…”

  Moro leapt forward and swung his shining blade at the black helm.

  “No!” Holly shouted.

  Moro was young and inexperienced but well-trained and fantastically athletic, and he covered the distance in a fraction of a second.

  And during that fraction of a second, the red elf moved with supernatural speed, drawing his weapon and striking the charging boy in the face with the flat of his flaming sword.

  The grey elf’s head jerked, and his sword clattered away. Moro fell to the ground, screaming and clutching at his face, which had burst into a mask of bright red flames.

  “Moro,” Holly cried, and moved forward to extinguish the screaming elf.

  But with a crackling flutter, the flaming sword swung low, severing the boy’s head and silencing his screams forever. There wasn’t even a spray of blood, the flaming sword having instantly cauterized the wounds.

  For an instant, Holly could only stare in horror as Mooret’s booming laughter filled the room.

  There was a flash of movement and a series of loud clangs as Tatiana attacked with her staff of smiting.

  The panther woman was speed personified, and her lightning fast strikes
rang off the black helm, one-two-three, pang-pang-pang, fast as a burst of rounds from the Fist.

  But Mooret, still laughing, shifted his weight and lashed out with speed beyond speed, impossible speed that did its work so quickly that an observer couldn’t register what was happening until the attack was finished. Thus, by the time Holly realized that his mailed fist had smashed Tatiana in the face, the she-panther was already dropping limply to the floor, dead or unconscious.

  This time, however, Holly wasted no time gawking. She pulled the magical wand from her cloak and fired directly at the shining black breastplate.

  The wand had been made long ago by a wizard of great power, and the blindingly bright magical missile that shot forth from its tip was massive, more akin to a javelin than an arrow. The enchanted missile struck the breastplate with a loud crack and a spray of sparks, then flashed away and sheared a bed post in two, toppling the ornate canopy.

  Mooret shouted laughter and pounded his chest with an armored fist. In his other hand, the flaming sword spat like a torch. “That’s the spirit, Holly. Fight me!”

  She fired again and again, but each time, the enchanted missile rebounded off the ancient black armor and ricocheted across the room.

  “This is god-forged armor, woman,” Mooret said, and as his laughter died, his eyes burned with wrath. “Magic won’t damage me. The only way to defeat me is with good, old fashioned trauma. Of course, then you have to face my blade.”

  And gathering the flaming sword in a two-handed grip, he stepped forward.

  “I will face your blade!” Briar shouted, charging into the room.

  Holly’s heart clanged with terror at the sight of her brave brother—for even Briar was no match for Mooret—but then she saw the weapon in Briar’s hands and felt a flicker of hope.