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

by Richard Hedley

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Redux

  Wooden Men and Green Dragons

  Gator Shoes

  Wiz Words

  Gathering Fire

  Robbin' Goblin

  King Croc

  Taxing Problems

  Nymph Mania

  Dragon Sword

  Word Exchange

  Lion Bastards

  Jailhouse Rock

  Dragon Feats

  Splitting Red

  Blue Stories

  Dragon Attack

  Baels the Blue

  Return to Sender

  Drusilla Again

  Unexpected Dragon

  Boggy Swamp

  The Black Castle

  Breakout

  Mount Up

  Lilly pads

  Joust

  Fred the Sword

  Beat Feet

  King Fangnar

  Castle Fangnar

  Tavern Fosdick again

  To the Dungeons

  It's a Push

  Through the Gate

  Evil Castle

  Going Daft

  Being Daft

  Bridge Too Far

  Evil Times

  Dragonmen

  Returning the Queen

  Of Dragons and Dragonmen

  Afterword

  Fat Barbarian

  By

  Richard Hedley

  Copyright © 2019 by Jon Pherigo

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely conincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without the express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Thanks for reading this book. Please consider leaving a review where you purchased the book.

  I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did creating it.

  To my lovely wife, who puts up with a a lot.

  Redux

  Tarmac the stable boy considered the figure asleep on a pile of mostly clean hay. The broad-shouldered young man was snoring, a flagon in one hand and his dirk in the other. His head was covered in stubble, thick black hair growing out where it had recently shaved off. The man’s broad torso was bare, tapering down to pants with leather armor hanging down from his belt. He wore sandals, one on his right foot and the left one askew.

  The smiling boy tilted his head, grabbed a bucket of water and dumped it on him.

  In a flash, he was on his feet, flailing his dirk around and sputtering.

  “Epic!” laughed the boy. “You should see the look on your face, Bardulf!”

  “Tarmac! You be careful, boy! That’s no way to wake a barbarian warrior!” He said as he lowered his knife and scowled at the stableboy, anger fading from his grey eyes.

  “Barbarian warrior?” the boy laughed even more. “You’re a barbarian fat ass! The only thing you ever fight is a hangover. You still haven’t even finished a quest.”

  “Adventure, you toom-twaddle! Barbarians do Adventures.” Bardulf put is dirk back in its sheath and considered the flagon. It was, regrettably, still empty. “And I’m not fat.”

  “Whatever. You asked me to wake you up in the morning, so I did. Because it’s morning. You’re welcome.”

  “Did you have to throw a bucket of water on me?”

  “No, but it was a bonus because you smell like the ass end of a two coin mule. Doing my civic duty, I was. I owe King Fosdick that much.”

  Bardulf grumbled, threw the boy a coin, and left the stable. He headed for Tavern Fosdick, the best and only tavern in City Fosdick, the capital of Kingdom Fosdick, which was ruled by King Fosdick. The simplicity of it all made his head hum with delight.

  Simplicity was important to him because he was a barbarian by nature and over the objections of his family. He tried to keep his life simple, but things were already getting complex. There was an adventure he had to go on and, because of one adventure he’d been on, he was known as Bardulf the Ramekin.

  He passed the friar’s petunia stand on the way to the tavern. It was empty, which was yet another complication. He wanted to buy petunias for Astra the barmaid. He couldn’t do that if they weren’t there.

  The portly landlord was cleaning pewter mugs when Bardulf entered Tavern Fosdick. Cleaning was a generous term for it. The water was filthy and smelled like stale beer, just like the clean mugs. The barbarian walked over and greeted him.

  “Where’s Astra?” Bardulf asked.

  “Fired is where she is,” he replied. “She hasn’t shown up for days. Who does she think she is? The Queen? I’ll be fucked. Now it’s just me here. You’ll have to wait a minute if you want a drink. I’ve got to smear dirt around for a few minutes, you fat fuck.”

  “No, I am supposed to give her petunias, but I can’t,” said Bardulf.

  “That’s another fucking disgrace,” replied the landlord. “A fucking barbarian bringing a bit of totty some goddamn flowers. What’s Kingdom Fosdick coming to? Anyway, you can’t give her petunias. That miserable shit McTaggart ran them petunia peddling friars out of town.”

  Bardulf’s face contorted in a storm of beet red anger.

  “Hugh McTaggart? Where can I find him?”

  “That miserable fuck wastes his mornings at the blacksmith's. Oh, and the King is tired of McTaggart’s shit. He put out a reward for getting rid of him and his gang.”

  The landlord reached under the bar and pulled out an old broadsheet declaring Hugh McTaggart to be a brigand and promising a reward for anyone who captured or killed him.

  Bardulf wondered why he hadn’t heard of this before even though it seemed familiar. There must be some sort of bullshit magic afoot. Not matter, this was a call to adventure and he would answer it. He left the tavern and headed for the blacksmith’s shop.

  Though City Fosdisk was the capital of Kingdom Fosdick, it wasn’t very large. Bardulf was at the blacksmith’s shop moments after leaving the tavern.

  The shop was abandoned, like most businesses in City Fosdick. The husband and wife team who ran the shop left soon after Hugh McTaggart and his gang arrived in town, demanding everyone pay ‘brigand insurance.’

  Paying McTaggart meant that his gang would leave you and your business alone. There was nothing he could do, he said. The boys are out of control. If I don’t give them money, they break things. So, he would say, you pay me and I’ll pay them and they won’t break you stuff or your bones.

  Anyone who resisted had sudden a string of bad luck. Things breaking, like cows. Tragic accidents that involved fire. That sort of thing. McTaggart had even been soaking the King for protection money, which he had to pay because all his knights were off fighting wars for King Fangnar.

  McTaggart and his men were standing in a circle and throwing one of the blacksmith’s old hammers at each other. The object of the game seemed to be catch it or stop it. Either way, Bardulf thought it was stupid and said so.

  “That looks like a stupid way to play catch,” he said as he got closer to the men.

  “Yeah, well, you can’t talk. You dress like a goddamn moron, Bardulf,” said McTaggart. “Put on a shirt. No one wants to see you walking around with your man teats hanging out. Here, catch!”

  McTaggart flung the hammer at the barbarian who caught it and threw it toward the man farther to his right, the man farthest from McTaggart. It smashed into the side of his head and stayed there as the brigand’s corpse crumpled to the ground.

  “Hey! Nobody kills my guys but me!�
��

  In a rage, the big gangster pulled an axe from his belt and charged the barbarian. Bardulf had his large blade in his hand, legs wide, ready for an attack. As the Hugh McTaggart came with in striking distance, he swung the axe down toward the barbarian’s head in a vicious movement. Bardulf reached up and caught the descending arm with his left hand, stepped in and swung his knife up and into the other man’s neck. The blade came out the top of McTaggart’s head.

  Bardulf’s grey eyes flashed satisfaction as he flung the lifeless body to the ground, pulling his blade loose with one hand and grabbing the axe with his other.

  “I can slay you or you can run like little girls back to your mommas,” he growled.

  As they fled, he warned them to leave Kingdom Fosdick and never come back.

  “That was pretty fucking awesome, Big B!”

  Bardulf turned to see Tarmac behind him. He was sitting on a wagon drawn by a mule.

  “Thanks.”

  “But you’re still a huge fat ass.”

  “Whatever,” Bardulf sighed. “I need to borrow your wagon. King Fosdick has a reward for this shitnozzle and I want to collect.”

  “You can walk. The castle isn’t far.”

  “Dumbass, I need to take the body as proof and I’m not going to drag it around,” Bardulf said. “I’ll give you two coins. One when we load it and one after the king gives me the reward.”

  The stable boy got a strange look on his face. He seemed to be thinking, and it was unknown territory for him.

  “Five. One when we load it,” he said, holding up his thumb, then the rest of his fingers. “Four more when the King gives you the reward.”

  Bardulf the Ramekin glared at the youngster. He crossed his arms. The boy smiled back.

  “Fine,” he said after failing to intimidate Tarmac. “One now and four when I get the reward.”

  When they arrived, Bardulf left Tarmac with the wagon and entered the king’s castle.

  “What business does a barbarian have in the castle of King Fosdick?” asked a guard.

  “The king put a price on Hugh McTaggart’s head, so I brought it. The brigand is dead.”

  “Really?”

  “His corpse is in yonder wagon.”

  The guard looked around Bardulf and nodded.

  “So it is,” the guard straightening himself. “Second door on your left. He’s in his office.”

  Bardulf followed the directions and soon stood before a thin man wearing a gold circlet above stringy brown hair and Van Dyke beard. Some people would call it a goatee, but a goatee is just a Van Dyke without a mustache.

  “Greetings, your kingship! I, Bardulf the Ramekin, have slain the brigand Hugh McTaggart and am here to claim my reward. If you look out yon window,” Bardulf indicated the window behind the king, “you’ll be able to see his body.”

  A man came in, whispered something to the king, and remained in place.

  “So you did. He was a vile man and a plague on Kingdom Fosdick,” King Fosdick said, before turning to the man who’d just whispered to him. “Martin, tell the guard to put McTaggart’s body on display somewhere as a warning to others.” The man bowed and left.

  “So you’re the Ramekin, eh?”

  “Aye,” said Bardulf, hooking his thumbs in his belt. “There was talk of a reward for Hugh McTaggart.”

  “Well, my boy, that is sure,” the King paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “However, it isn’t official yet as I have no one left to send out the message and we certainly couldn’t post the reward here, I mean, really, if we could post that here, then we could have had a fighting force sufficient to deal with the likes of the McTaggart gang, but as it stands King Fangnar has taken all my knights and sent them out on his wars.

  “An army of lepers could take over Kingdom Fosdick. McTaggart and his thugs took everything they wanted from the people of the Kingdom. So, I guess we don’t have a reward, you know. Except the thanks of a grateful nation. Thank you for your service.”

  “What about the coins?” asked Bardulf. “McTaggart was taking coins from everyone, including your kingliness. What about that money?”

  The butler whispered in the king’s ear.

  “They weren’t known for having a savings plan,” said King Fosdick. “I expect they spent it all.”

  “Wait,” Bardulf said. “If they were taking everything, what did they spend the money on? You’ve implied that they were taking things without paying. That means the money is somewhere.”

  “I think you mean his majesty ‘inferred’ they never used money,” said the butler.

  “No,” he replied. “The speaker implies, the listener infers. I inferred from the king’s statement that the McTaggart Gang took everything without paying.”

  Bardulf furrowed his brow. Everything still seemed foggy.

  “There is money,” he continued. “And I will have it.”

  “Yes. Of course you will, Bardulf,” said King Fosdick. "The money will come from King Fangnar." The King stood and began to pace.

  “You see, my wife, Queen Prunella is King Fangnar’s daughter. The Sorcerer has taken her hostage and is demanding ransom from both my kingdom and Kingdom Fangnar. We’re still negotiating with him, or at least I am, because Fangnar says it’s my problem, and he has other daughters, but I’m responsible for this one. If she gets killed because I didn’t pay the ransom, then he’ll send my army to take my kingdom from me.”

  “I still want my reward, King Fosdick.”

  “There is also the issue of the dragons. They are a curse through the land. They have taken over at least two of my castles, but I have no idea why.”

  “You seem to be everybody’s bitch, King Fosdick.” Bardulf crossed his mighty arms and stared at the King.

  “Yes, well,” the King shifted nervously. “That isn’t the point. The point is that if you can rescue Queen Prunella, I can reward you.”

  With that, Bardulf inclined his head toward King Fosdick, turned and left castle.

  “You got my money, fat ass?” Tarmac said as the barbarian approached the cart.

  “There’s been a bit of a problem.”

  “You’ve got a problem, I don’t. There’s a reward and—”

  “You’re right,” Bardulf said as he retrieved four coins from his pouch and handed them to the stable boy. “Here. I have places to go and sorcerers to kill.”

  Wooden Men and Green Dragons

  King Fosdick watched as Bardulf left the castle. Prunella was King Fangnar’s daughter, but he had several and wouldn’t pay the ransom. That would be entirely up to Fosdick and his bankrupt kingdom.

  In times of trouble, when he needed to talk things out, he would find Prunella and he would think out loud at her. Sometimes, she had things to say, but he found that she often just repeated good ideas he had already mentioned. When their marriage was new, she liked to pretend she'd come up with the ideas. Fortunately, she'd stopped that.

  He couldn’t talk to her now. However, their daughter Natalie was sensible. Being sensible was an important thing for a monarch. So many did silly things and their kingdoms were poorer for it.

  Fosdick rose, told the royal butler he was going to find his daughter and left the office. Castle Fosdick was big enough to make it hard to find people sometimes. Most kings would send a servant to find someone they wanted to talk to. Normally, he would, too. However, he’d noticed more and more that trying to summon his daughter to come to him was a waste of time. It worked better if he went to her.

  Natalie was always in one of two places: the armory or her dressing room. She'd developed an interest in fighting around her thirteenth birthday. It was just after Prince Hillwick’s ill-fated attempt to court her. Fosdick had arranged for them to meet to prepare her for marriage a few years later. Contrary to other monarchs, he thought a girl ought to be at least sixteen before she got married.

  Natalie wasn’t in her dressing room, so he headed down to the armory. She’d been working on a technique called �
�half-sword,’ where you grab the sword half way up the blade and use the pommel to beat your opponent into submission. It was a popular tactic in debates, too. Seize upon a half truth, pretend that's all there is a beat your opponent senseless with irrational arguments that sound good. The sword thing was more direct and he approved of it.

  Fosdick heard the Princess talking with Duke Farley in the map room. He still needed to talk to someone and adding his brother to the conversation was probably a good idea. Farley had a good head on his shoulders and loved the family business.

  The King entered, and they bowed and greeted him.

  “Well, what have we here?” he asked. “You two are looking at the campaign map for the Kingdom, I see. Planning something?”

  “Yes, Father,” Natalie replied. “Uncle and I were looking at ways to defend the kingdom while we have no knights and the castles are being occupied by those awful dragons.”

  “Why would you do that? We don’t have enough knights to mount a defense.”

  “Because, Father, while the knights are an important component of Kingdom Fosdick’s defense, the backbone consists of levied troops; most of them are archers and pikemen.”

  “Well, I, ah,” the King paused a moment. “Of course it is.”

  “Brother,” Duke Farley continued. He picked up a pointer and indicated several places on the map. “We have a considerable presence of reserve manpower in these locations. Each of these carvings represent a force of five thousand soldiers. With those-”

  “Reserve manpower,” asked Fosdick. “You mean extra people?”

  “In a way,” Farley said. “These are regions where the number of men available to farm exceed the number needed to farm.”

  “Why is that?” asked the King, pointing to a group of wooden soldiers. “Why would there be so many people? And how do we know?”

  “Oh, that,” Farley rumbled. Across the table, Natalie took out a nail file began working on her nails. “When people have lots of children and they live, the population increases. Queen Prunella’s scheme for rotating crops and so forth has allowed the farmers of Fosdick to grow more food on less land.”