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

by Richard Hedley

  There are a lot of unanswered questions here, thought Bardulf. But he dismissed them. There would be time later. He raised his lance and nodded toward the blue dragon and they took to the sky.

  One of the outlying demons caught Bardulf's attention. He flew over to knock the rider off his mount. He came in full speed and smashed the demon, sending him flying off as a ball of energy that landed on top of a cloud. Heeding Baels warning, he swiftly retrieved the ball before the demon and the buzzard could re-spawn.

  A sudden screech tore through the air behind Bardulf. Cursing he ducked as talons raked across his back hard enough to draw blood but not hard enough to dismount him. He put Alfred into a steep dive, smashed a rider flying beneath him, gathered the energy ball, looked around, and took flight again. Below him, two buzzards flew toward each other. They looked like a great target.

  Bardulf swooped down at a steep angle and smacked both of the demons off of their mounts with one motion. He then maneuvered Alfred back up and around in a turning climbing motion. He then swooped the ostrich back down to pick up the two energy orbs. His tally was at three.

  A glance over to Baels showed that the blue dragon was well ahead of him with five orbs. Bardulf set his jaw, determined to win the fight and best Baels.

  He flew higher into the sky, then swooped on the demon, attacked, and caught another energy ball. There were a lot of targets.

  Bardulf watched as Baels jockeyed his swan into position to come up behind a demon. Unfortunately, he wasn't paying close enough attention and another swooped in behind him and knocked him off of his mount. The barbarian dove in and took the rider Baels had been after and the one that had gotten him.

  Baels had disappeared. On his descent, he saw the blue dragon and his mount reform on the grounds of the blue castle. The Ramekin noticed that their scores were now tied, but the sky was clear of enemies.

  Buzzards and demons appeared in the clouds, he realized they would need a moment for them to get their bearings and begin their attack, so he directed Alfred to dive at them. He toppled three of the enemy in quick succession, leaving seven.

  Bardulf looked for the demons and saw the blue dragon was ready to engage the remaining riders.

  Alfred let out a low rumble, and Bardulf urged him on to get between Baels and the demons, but Baels was a practiced rider and not to be denied. By the time Bardulf reached him, Baels had racked up another three kills. They were even again.

  He knew there was too much at stake to allow the game to go on, so he pressed his attack always staying between Baels and his foes.

  "Bardulf, are you cock-blocking me?” yelled Baels.

  "No, I'm beating you," said Bardulf as he dispatched two more enemies and retrieved their orbs.

  Baels could still win, but only if he got the two remaining demons, but that was not to be. Bardulf quickly snagged one, but then broke off to allow Baels to defeat the final enemy.

  "Game over! Bardulf the Ramekin has the highest score. All hail King Baels."

  The warriors landed their beasts in the field of Blue Castle.

  Fred the Sword

  Baels dismounted his red stork, gestured with his hands and the Swan disappeared in an explosion of colored dots. He turned and walked over to Bardulf.

  A crowd gathered around them, keeping a respectful distance but close enough to hear what the two mighty warriors had to say. Hopefully, there would be some juicy hero gossip.

  “Zounds, Bardulf! You are clearly a Ramekin of epic proportions. I have never seen such a display of jousting in my life. Pray, tell me your secret for destroying the flock!“

  “There isn’t a flocking thing I can’t destroy,” replied Bardulf.

  "Your arcane knowledge astounds me, Great Ramekin!" The blue dragon began to applaud quietly, as if he were at a golf game and had just witnessed an astounding putt. The crowd followed suit. Except for that one guy who yelled ‘WOOT WOOT,’ because there's always that one guy in the crowd. It's never a girl, it's always a guy.

  The lance created by the two swords wiggled in Bardulf's hand. It was disconcerting and immediately got Bardulf's attention.

  "What?" Bardulf asked the weapon. "I haven't heard a word from you guys since I put you together. It's a nice change."

  "That's the point, Bardulf. They want to get separated again," came Alfred’s thought into his head.

  "Oh hell no," Bardulf said turning to the ostrich. "Then one of them will just go on and on and on and the other one will say motherfucker so much that he breaks the goddamn word."

  The crowd murmured, wondering why Bardulf was talking to his mount. It seemed weird even in a magical realm.

  "Good Sir Bardulf, you seem to be speaking with that ostrich. Why is that?" The blue dragon asked.

  “He's not really an ostrich," said Bardulf. "He looks like an ostrich, but he's telepathic and I can hear his thoughts. Oh, and he's also the black dragon."

  The crowd became very anxious and let out a collective gasp. Some ran to seek shelter in the castle's keep.

  "The black dragon has been a scourge on my kingdom for many years. I must slay it!"

  Alfred looked around and saw Baels coming toward him. "The jigs up, Bardulf! I've gotta blow this taco stand!"

  As Baels approached, Alfred leapt into the air and flew away. Bardulf looked at his hand that was holding the lance and noticed that now he held the two swords. He put Aargh in his left hand and brandished Mace with his right.

  "Hold on just one second, Baels," Bardulf squared himself toward the blue dragon. "He just helped us defeat all those demons. Maybe it was some other black dragon harassing you. This kingdom seems to be lousy with dragons."

  "I'm quite certain that's the black dragon, Sir Bardulf."

  "And how would you know for sure?"

  "I'm the blue dragon, so I have inside knowledge."

  The crowd applauded.

  "Good people!" Baels cried to the crowd. "I must speak with this Bold Adventurer and tell him how to save Queen Prunella."

  After the crowd dispersed, Baels adopted a blank expression, a neutral posture, and spoke.

  "If you are to complete your Adventure and rescue Queen Prunella, you will need the purple sword. It is a magic sword that can defeat any enemy. To forge the purple sword, you will need to bathe Aargh and Mace in my blood."

  Bardulf plunged the swords into the Baels, first Mace, then Aargh. The blue dragon crumpled to the ground and the swords slide free. Both were covered in the blood. The blood on the blue sword was red. On the red sword, it was blue.

  "That was some cold ass shit, motherfucker,” said Mace.

  "Yeah," said Aargh. "Totally unnecessary. Now how are you to figure out how to make the purple sword?"

  “It was reflex! He told me to bathe you two in his blood!” Bardulf growled to the swords. A vein started to pulse on his head. "You tell me how to do that in a less 'stab the guy' way. I’m waiting.”

  "How the fuck should we know, motherfucker?"

  “GODDAMN IT!” yelled Bardulf. “Will you stop saying ‘motherfucker’ all the goddamn time? It’s fucking annoying. That kind of shit says you’re an ignorant little bitch with no goddamn vocabulary. What the hell would you say if you could say ‘motherfucker this’ and ‘motherfucker that’? Could you even talk, you stupid scimitar?”

  The barbarian took a breath to calm down, put both swords in his right hand, and knelt down by Baels. The dragon was bleeding and near death. Bardulf was careful to stay out away from the expanding pool of purple blood.

  "Why did you do that?” gasped Baels. "Why did you kill me?"

  "You said I needed to bathe the swords in your blood; I figured you were about to attack me again or something. But now that I think about it, you might've had a less fatal solution." Bardulf stared at the prone figure and brought up the main point. “Look, I’m sorry I killed you, but before you die I’ve got one question: how do I make the purple sword?"

  The blue dragon’s lips moved and the Ramekin moved
his ear down to hear what he was trying to say. A raspy whisper came from his mouth. “Go… go… go… fuck yourself.”

  A faint smile passed over Bardulf’s face as he straightened and stood up.

  He noticed that the people of blue castle had taken notice that their beloved ruler had been stabbed to death. Bardulf thought he might be a suspect because he was kneeling over the dragon, covered in blood, and holding the murder weapon. It might look suspicious.

  "Well, shit," he said. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

  "I suggest we leave, find that shit-nozzle Sorcerer, and kill him,” came a voice from his right side. “Oh, and we also need to rescue Queen Prunella.”

  Bardulf looked down and laughed. The red sword and the blue sword had become the purple sword.

  Beat Feet

  Bardulf had a problem. Some villagers were pointing at him. Some of them had sharp farm implements. A few had torches. Even Baels’ troops were coming out of their stupor.

  “Hey, you,” cried one of the guards. “We need to talk to you. You killed the blue dragon!”

  Bardulf glared down at the purple sword and decided it was right. A hasty exit was in order. He turned and ran away from the castle, toward the Red Dragon Tavern. The crowd pursued for a short time, but they lost interest in short order. He stopped running when he realized he wasn’t being followed anymore and going in the tavern might be a mistake.

  “You need a drink, don’t you?” The sword was talking to him. This one made more sense than the others. So far, anyway. But, it hadn’t said much. His father had always told him that the more people talk, the dumber they sound. Bardulf always thought that was cynical, but there was a lot of truth to it.

  “Yeah. It’s been a rough couple of days,” Bardulf replied as he leaned against a tree. “There’s a tavern along the road, but the last time I was there I killed someone. They're probably still upset.”

  “Is killing motherfuckers all you do? Can’t you find a straight job?”

  “Said the sword, whose one and only job is killing things.”

  “I’m most definitely not blind to the irony but, from what I’ve seen, you might be a little kill happy."

  “Great,” said Bardulf. “A pacifist sword.”

  “What of it? Look, motherfucker, all I’m saying is there is a distinction between homicide and straight up murder, and you seem to be all about the murder.”

  Bardulf massaged his temples. He couldn’t decide if he was getting a headache from the sword or his father seeming to be correct. Again.

  “You’ve got to get the difference between killing people for a good reason and killing them for no reason. The type of slaughter you’ve done is barbaric.”

  “Barbarians tend to be barbaric, sword,” he sighed. “Let’s go back to Tavern Fosdick. At least they know my name and know I’m a barbarian.”

  “Do they know you’re a fat ass?”

  “I’m not fat.”

  “You’re huge,” stated the sword. “And your stomach looks funny.”

  “Those are muscles. You can’t see stomach muscles on a fat person.”

  “So you’ve got big eating muscles. Like some fat motherfucker.”

  “Why can’t I get a magic sword that knows how to shut the fuck up?”

  “Because you need company.” The sword paused before continuing. “You can call me Fred. What should I call you?”

  “I’m Bardulf, also known as Ramekin. You can call me ‘Bardulf.’ Fred is a stupid name for a sword.”

  “No stupider than bragging about being a ceramic bowl, motherfucker.”

  “Not ramekin, Ramekin!” Bardulf said, growling.

  “As in Stupid, not stupid. Capitalizing a word doesn’t change the word, bowl boy.”

  The Ramekin grumbled and stalked off toward Tavern Fosdick in Fosdick City. After a few steps, he heard a familiar giggle and turned off the trail.

  “Hey, Dru.”

  “Hey, Bardulf. Who’s your new purple friend?”

  “I’m Fred, gorgeous.”

  “Fred Gorgeous is a pretty strange name for a sword.”

  “I meant — look, there was a comma there, as in ‘Fred-comma-gorgeous.’ Because, as a long, hard piece of metal, I think you’re attractive.”

  “She's not a long, hard piece of metal. She's a wood nymph.”

  “That’s right. I’m Drusilla the wood nymph and you’re Fred Gorgeous the talking sword.”

  “Look, I-" Fred sighed. “Okay. I can do that. I’m Gorgeous. Fred Gorgeous the talking sword.”

  “What’s up, Dru?” Bardulf said. “You got another knot in your sap?”

  “Always, for you, Bardulf…”

  “Yum.”

  “Y’all need to get a room. I don't want to be around when a dryad gets busy with a mannequin.”

  “RAMEKIN!” Bardulf and Drusilla yelled at the same time.

  "Whatever."

  “How do you do it, Bardulf? You find the most annoying talking swords in the Seven Kingdoms. One talks too much, the next one says ‘motherfucker’ so often they had to take it out of the dictionary, and now you’ve got one that is just— I don’t know— just-”

  “I agree. The term might be 'idiom.' He has an idiom, a way of speaking,” said the barbarian.

  “I guess this is what happens when you're barbarian with an education,” said Dru. “Bardulf, I’m going to get out of here before Fred gives me root rot. I have a message for you: Go back to Tavern Fosdick and talk to Mort the Wizard. He’ll tell you what happens next.”

  Drusilla gave Bardulf a quick kiss on the cheek, whispered something in his ear, and strutted off into the forest with a walk that made boy-willows weep.

  “Well, that was interesting,” said Fred. “She doesn’t seem like your type.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The most painful fucking splinter you can get, that’s what I mean.”

  Bardulf shook his head and kept his mouth shut, not wanting to encourage the sword, and started toward Tavern Fosdick.

  Ahead on the trail, Bardulf saw a man in full plate armor and black surcoat standing in the center of the road with his sword at rest, point to the ground, hands on the pommel.

  As they approached, the knight looked up. There was a limbless body next to him, blood still oozing from the joints where the man’s limbs were severed.

  “Hail, good sir knight!”

  “Hello, Bardulf, Ramekin of Barbarians.”

  “You have me at a disadvantage.”

  “He’s not the only one,” said Fred.

  “Shut up, Fred,” Bardulf replied, looking at the sword in his hand and then back up at the black clad knight. “You know my name, but I do not know yours. How should I address you?”

  “You may call me Jerry.”

  “Excellent, Sir Jerry-”

  “Just Jerry. I’m Jerry the black knight, but I’m not a 'Knight' knight.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Bardulf, what the hell is this motherfucker doing?” asked Fred.

  “Probably another test.”

  “What does that mean?"

  “Violence, bloodshed, all the usual stuff,” replied Bardulf.

  “Typical. Look, does that mean you’ve gotta kill another fool? Maybe you can reason with—”

  “You shall not pass.” The black knight said as he raised his sword.

  “Excuse me?” said Bardulf, bringing the purple sword up to a defensive position.

  “I am tasked with preventing anyone from taking this road toward City Fosdick.”

  “Do you work for King Fangnar?”

  “You shall not proceed.”

  “That’s okay,” said Fred. “We can just go around him.”

  “What?”

  “I'm just saying it doesn't have to be this way. We can avoid bloodshed if we go around this motherfucker.”

  “As challenged, you may choose the manner of combat, but you may not avoid combat.”

  “Politeness!” cried Fred.
“We shall battle with kindness, manners, and compliments.”

  “What the fuck!” Bardulf said as he lifted the purple sword. “Have you lost your tiny little mind?”

  “Oh, no,” said Jerry. “This is a most excellent idea.”

  “Well played,” said Fred. “Have you done this before? You seem to have an aptitude for it.”

  “Fuck my life,” Bardulf stared at the knight and then back to the sword. “What are you guys? Butlers?”

  “It must be difficult, dealing with a barbarian. You’re most patient, good sword.”

  “Oh, yes. But you have quite the burden, too. Slaying people all day long must be tedious. It shows you have great strength.”

  “Kind of you to notice,” said Jerry. “I must do this all day long.” In a flash, Jerry attacked.

  Bardulf jumped back, dodging the blade thrusting toward his clavicle.

  “Goddamn it, motherfucker,” shouted Fred. “I was trying to end this without violence.”

  The black knight laughed. “Wait, Bardulf, you’ve got a pacifist sword? How does that even happen?”

  Bardulf felt the sword tug at his arm as it lunged toward the black knight, stabbing through Jerry’s throat and out the back of his skull. Bardulf stepped forward and lowered Jerry’s body to the ground.

  “What the hell! You don't have to kill everyone you meet!” yelled Fred as Bardulf pulled the sword out of the dead knight’s helmet.

  Bardulf shook his head back and forth, like he was trying to dislodge a bug from his ear.

  “What?”

  “You’ve got a real problem, bowl-boy. You’re always killing motherfuckers who don’t need it. We could have gone around him.”

  “You pulled my arm! That's how he got stabbed!”

  “We’re goddamn lucky I did, too. He was about to kill your ass!”

  “So you admit you killed him.” Bardulf said as he started back down the path to City Fosdick.

  “Oh, no, motherfucker,” Fred said. “That’s all on you. You insulted him, so we lost the duel.”