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

by Richard Hedley

  “Correct.”

  “That was easy, B,” said Fred. “It’s like this fool doesn’t think you’ve ever read a book!”

  “That wasn’t in a book, it was in a play or something about a king with a swollen foot,” replied Bardulf. “I slept through in prep school, but father paid for a quality education, so I got it anyway.”

  “Silence!” cried the Baels Sphinx. “Here is your next riddle: If you speak my name, you destroy me. Who am I?”

  “Silence! Who does he think he is?” said Fred. “Look, I was being portentous earlier, but this motherfucker gets a cat’s body and suddenly he’s the most pretentious motherfucker I’ve ever met.”

  “You sound just like your father when you get angry, you know that?” said Bardulf. “Wait, that’s not a pretty picture. That would make Aargh your mother. Anyway, you remind me of Mace when you get pissed.”

  “Correct,” said the Sphinx.

  “Say what? ‘Correct,’ motherfucker?”

  “He means we got it right, Fred,” Bardulf replied. “Don't question it.”

  “Look, I just want to know what the answer was, moth-”

  “Silence! Now for the final riddle. This riddle must be answered with a question. It belongs to him, but both his friends and enemies use it more than he does.”

  Neither the barbarian nor the sword spoke for a moment.

  “Oh, this is like ‘Jeopardy’, Bardulf,” said Fred. “We have to answer with a question. That’s so cool.”

  “I’ve always liked the host, but he looked kind of creepy without his mustache," Bardulf replied as he looked up at the Baels-Sphinx. "What’s his name?”

  “Correct!” replied the Sphinx. He put his head between his paws and looked dejected. “How you fools could best me is a riddle for the ages.”

  “Alex Trebek!” said Gnorma. “He’s the host of ‘Jeopardy.’ Good show. He’s a handsome devil, mustache or no.”

  Through the Gate

  “Sorry, Baels. You know how it is with the Ramekin,” said Bardulf.

  “No, I honestly don’t,” said the Baels Sphinx. “I just know that I’m going to be in this cursed form until the end of time.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Bardulf.

  “Because I must defeat you in a riddle in order to change back to being a dragon and I failed my one and only chance to do that.”

  “Really?” Fred asked. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Tell me about it,” said the barbarian.

  “Okay, it doesn’t seem fair because that’s an awfully harsh punishment for-”

  “Fred! It’s a figure of speech,” said Bardulf. “Where did you hear this, Baels?”

  “I was Told,” Baels replied. “A figure came to me in my death, Told me, and sent me here to wait for you.”

  “That’s all it said?”

  “Yeah,” Baels said with a frown.

  “Shit, don’t be a blue bunny,” said Fred. “Bardulf’s got this all figured out.”

  “How do you know, Fred?” asked Bardulf.

  “I’m Fred that’s how I, oh, wait. You mean, how do I know you’ve got figured it out, right? Easy, I’m a magic sword and I’m in your head.”

  “That’s a disgusting concept,” said Baels.

  “Maybe so, but he’s right, Baels. I’ve got an angle,” said Bardulf. “You’ve got to best me in a riddle game. It didn’t say you have to ask the riddle, right?”

  “That’s correct,” replied the blue dragon-sphinx with hesitation in his voice.

  “And you aren’t required to eat me if you win?”

  “Only if you failed to solve my three riddles.”

  “But if you solve my riddle, you defeat me, and you don’t have to eat me.”

  Baels regarded the barbarian for a moment. His face contorted a bit as he smiled.

  “YES!” exclaimed Baels, causing everyone to jump a bit. “I’m starting to see how you beat me, Ramekin — you have a twisted mind. Perhaps you should have been a wizard.”

  “Let’s get at it,” said Bardulf. “What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?”

  “Hmm,” Baels said as he pondered the riddle. “I really don’t know, but if you use math, then I’d say a breath. If you average out your number of breaths in a thousand years, it would be zero.”

  “No. Try being more literal. The answer is the letter ‘M,’ though you had a nice spin on it.” Bardulf scratched his chin and continued. “Let’s go for two out of three.”

  “Okay,” said Baels. “I’ll take more time this time, good Sir Bardulf.”

  “Excellent,” said Bardulf. “Let me think…”

  “I’ve got one,” said Fred. “I’m taller when I’m young and shorter when I’m old. What am I? Please answer in the form of a question.”

  “Hmm. Well played,” said Baels. “I’ve got it! What is a candle?”

  “That’s right!” said Fred, who seemed very into this game.

  “Here comes a tricky one,” Bardulf raised a finger, pointing into the air, as if he were pointing to the next riddle. “What side of a chicken has the most feathers?”

  “The outside!” replied Fred. “Oh, wait. Sorry, Baels. You have to answer.”

  “Zip it this time, Fred,” the barbarian said to the sword. “Now, for the big money: What has two hands, but can’t clap?”

  “Oh my,” Baels reached up and rubbed his whiskers. “It could be a monkey, but monkeys can clap. Hmmm. Let me think.”

  “Tick, tock. Time’s a-wastin’.”

  “Oh!” A look of recognition went across the dragon-sphinx’s face. “A clock! What is a clock?”

  “Correct! You got two out of three and you’ve beaten me in a riddle game!”

  There was a huge puff of white smoke, which shifted to blue, and when it lifted, Baels the blue dragon stood where once the monstrous sphinx once stood.

  “Yippee-kai-ay, motherfucker!” yelled Fred. “That’s one less person you killed, Bardulf.”

  “Yeah, about that, Baels…” the barbarian said. “My fault. I’m sorry.”

  “Do I look dead, Sir Bardulf?” Baels motioned to his regained form of a regal and well-dressed humanoid dragon. “As my man-at-arms says, ‘No harm, no foul.’ And to prove my lack of acrimony, please allow me to help you on your quest. We shall defeat your opponents as we defeated the evil black buzzards in the skies of my kingdom.”

  “Excellent,” the Ramekin said. “We leave immediately. Well, immediately after you tell me which way to go.”

  “I have no idea, Sir Bardulf.”

  “But-”

  “I do,” said Gnorma. “Just through those rocks and into that scary fucking cave. I’m a Gnome, an earth spirit, and I wouldn’t even go in there.”

  “Okay,” said Bardulf as he set off with his sword and regal new companion.

  They walked about a hundred meters or two hundred and forty feet and followed the path around a corner. Not far down the trail was a cave, a hole blasted in the rock. Around it sulfur and tar bubbled. Nothing lived there. The carcass of a dead cow was sticking out of a black puddle. It seemed to be melting.

  “Doesn’t look so bad,” said Fred.

  “Kind of reminds me of home,” Baels slapped Bardulf on the back. “What about you, Sir Bardulf?”

  The barbarian grunted and wondered why he’d been so nice to the blue dragon. It must have been guilt over killing him. But if he hadn’t killed him the first time, Baels wouldn’t have been able to become the sphinx, lose the riddle battle, and then lead him to the Gate. It had to be destiny and there is no point feeling guilty about things that are destined to happen.

  The two beings of very different species walked down the path, both beginning to choke on the horrible sulfurous fumes coming from the cave. Bardulf threw up. Baels breathed a little green fire out both ends. The sword was quiet. They trudged on through the hole of the cave.

  With the next step they were through and the air cleared. />
  “Was that the Portal?” asked Fred.

  “You mean Gate,” said Bardulf. “No. It was too easy.”

  They descended in silence until they reached a large stone platform. Two towering, powerful figures stood before them, one clad in yellow, the other in fuchsia. Bardulf motioned for Baels to stay behind as he approached the pair. There was a quiet whoosh of air behind the Ramekin. He turned.

  He saw Baels trapped in a transparent case trying to smash his way out, but the prison held him fast.

  “Bardulf. Ramekin. Barbarian. Scion of no worth,” came a single, echoed a voice from the mighty figures. “If you are to prove yourself worthy, you must solve one more puzzle.”

  “Goddamn it. I want to break something,” Bardulf growled. “Bring your magic to me, magic person. I have no fear of you.”

  “You must past the Test of Twos. Your companion is trapped in a cage he cannot escape. Before the cage are two magic stones. One will release your friend and open the Gate, the other will kill both of you. You may ask one question to either guard before you touch the stone, but be warned. One guard tells only the truth, and the other tells only lies.”

  “This is a messed up situation, B,” said the purple sword. “What do these dickheads want from us? We already had to think once today.”

  Bardulf regarded the giants before him. They were too tall for him to kill, so he’d have to take a stab at the kind of familiar puzzle. Something about asking one what the other would say.

  Baels was freaking out in his cramped case. Even the most dapper of dragons don’t like confined spaces.

  “Hey, Bardulf, now might be a good time to go on a killing spree,” said Fred. “Look, I can’t solve this, so I’m damn sure you can’t.”

  “No, I’ve got it,” Bardulf replied as he strode over to the fuchsia guard looked at him and asked his question. “If I were to ask your partner over there which button you would say I should press and he lied about the answer which one would he say I should press.”

  Baels jumped up and down. It seemed to Bardulf that the dragon was yelling something at him, but he couldn’t tell what it was.

  The fuchsia guard pointed at the button on the right, so Bardulf walked over and was about to press the button on the left when he noticed the blue dragon's agitation.

  Bardulf reached down and pressed the button the guard had indicated.

  “SHIT! I meant to press the other one!”

  None the less, the tube and the guards disappeared.

  “Bardulf,” said Baels. “You screwed up the question, but you got me out. How did you do it?”

  “It was a fifty-fifty shot, so I guess I got lucky.”

  Gnorma shimmered into existence.

  “So, this is what’s in that filthy goddamn hole,” she said. “Not bad. Anyway, the Sorcerer is beyond this Gate.” She gestured and a wavy gray oval appeared. “You will also find Queen Prunella.”

  Gnorma took a step back and Bardulf walked through the portal. He turned around, expecting to see Baels, but there was nothing.

  Evil Castle

  Bardulf surveyed the scene before him. The land was gray and desolate, not a stick of vegetation grew on the smooth volcanic rocks. Some rocks jutted out at angles impossible in a natural environment. Hanging in the air, for example. More annoying magical shit.

  A gorge folded out before the barbarian and his sword. Beyond it was the only thing that broke up the monotony of the landscape: a huge white castle in the shape of a skull. The skull seemed to have a drawbridge attached to its mandibles, but the bridge was up.

  “What a shit hole,” said the barbarian, arms akimbo, his face stretched into a disapproving frown.

  “Not sure I know what you mean,” answered Fred. “It’s a magic castle in a magic land.”

  “That’s part of the problem, if not the root,” Bardulf looked at the castle and noticed it had “Castle Evil” carved in runic letters across its forehead. He walked closer, and the drawbridge started to lower. It was red.

  “Bardulf?”

  “Yes, sword?”

  “Does that look like the motherfucking castle is-”

  “Yes,” Bardulf replied with great solemnity. “Let that and the story of my grandmother be added to the list of things we never speak of again.”

  “Okay.”

  Bardulf drew closer to the edge and saw the bridge retract. He stepped back and it came back down.

  “Damn,” growled Fred. “The creepy-ass castle looks like it’s laughing at us. There no motherfucking way we can let that stand, Bardulf. Let’s go kill the shit out of the Sorcerer.”

  Bardulf pondered the situation for a moment. Gnorma shimmered into existence again.

  “Adventurer!” she said. “Ahead lies the Castle of the Sorcerer. Behind its walls you will finally confront the Sorcerer. Before you can do that, you must follow yon path and learn the Password from the knowme Kevin. Be warned, he is an unpredictable little bastard.”

  “Look,” said Fred. “Just to be clear, you’re a gnome and Kevin is a knowme, not a gnome, right?”

  “Adventurer!” she said. “Ahead lies the Castle of the Sorcerer. Behind its walls you will finally confront the Sorcerer. Before you can do that, you must follow yon path and learn the Password from the knowme Kevin. Be warned, he is an unpredictable little bastard.”

  “She’s stuck,” said Fred. Bardulf grunted in reply and trudged off to find the goddamn knowme.

  “Why don’t they ever pay any attention when I talk?” muttered Fred.

  “Probably because they’ve heard you before, sword.”

  “Damn. That was cold.”

  Going Daft

  The barbarian and the sword followed the path Gnorma indicated.

  “Fred, what do you know— I mean— what the fuck is a going on. I thought Gnorma was a gnome, but she says this Kevin character is.”

  “She said 'knowme,' not 'gnome,'” the sword replied. “Look, they’re not the same thing, but they’re homo-somethings because they sound the same.”

  “Ah, homonyms? Like there, their, and they’re?”

  “Yeah. Homo-somethings. A gnome is an earth spirit. A knowme is something that knows a lot of, um, knowledge. They can be some powerful beings. Most are huge dorks, too. My cousin Sid called one a 'gnome-it-all' once.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Ironic,” said the Ramekin. “So, knowmes are knowledge spirits.”

  “Okay. If that helps you, then think that.”

  They walked in comparative silence for an hour before coming to a village. There was someone who was removing vegetation from the ground and throwing it in a pile.

  “Look, B. We’ve come to a village.”

  “Yeah,” the Ramekin replied. “I’m going to talk to this fellow. I need some food, maybe they have a good Chinese joint. Please stay quiet, we don’t want to freak him out with a talking sword.”

  “You got it. You might as well put me in your belt, too. That way he won’t freak out because some big guy with a sword in his hand is asking questions. If he did that, you might kill him.”

  Bardulf grunted and put Fred through his thick leather belt and approached the villager who was busy gathering moss and some white rocks.

  “Greetings,” said Bardulf. “I am a traveller who seeks food and lodging for the evening. Where should I inquire? Do you have an inn of some sort?”

  “What?”

  “I am a stranger to these parts and I seek a meal and a bed for the evening.”

  “Why are you dressed in that strange leather dress thing? It doesn’t leave much to the imagination, you know.”

  Bardulf heard more voices coming from the other side of the rock. They were asking the man if he was talking to himself again.

  “No, I’m not,” he yelled back. “But I might be hallucinating again, because I think I’m talking to someone who says he’s a stranger.”

  A few heads popped over the rock
outcroppings. One of them climbed up a little further and addressed Bardulf.

  “Who are you then?”

  “I am Bardulf the Ramekin. I am a barbarian and I seek a hot meal of Egg Foo Yung and a bed for the evening.”

  “What sort of barbarian worries about sleeping in a bed?”

  “The civilized kind,” Bardulf replied. “Come now, is there an inn in the town?”

  “No,” the man replied. “And we don’t have any real food either. We only have moss and the cake they thrown down from yon castle.” The man pointed toward the Castle.

  “You mean the Castle, where the Sorcerer dwells?”

  “Yeah, but don’t mention his name anymore or the food troll will come.”

  “Food troll?”

  “Yeah, food troll. He eats all our real food, so all we’ve got left is moss and the cake the castle people throw at us.”

  “Why do you put up with the food troll? You could fight it.”

  “We’re not warriors like you. Why are you here, barbarian?”

  “We’re here kill the fuck out of the Sorcerer,” replied Fred.

  “We told you not to say that name again!”

  "It's too late!" yelled the first village, pointing to the East. "The food troll comes! We're doomed!"

  The ground shook, as it did when the Baels-Sphinx appeared, and in a flash of light, a hideous troll appeared. Bardulf pulled Fred from his hip and held the sword at the ready.

  “Haha, little human,” the troll’s voiced boomed. The villagers cowered. “Your sword can’t hurt me. I’m a troll.”

  “Yeah, but I’m a magic sword, motherfucker. I can lay all kinds of hurt on you.”

  “I break magic swords and use them to perform sanitary cleaning activities on myself,” the troll said. “Your magic is puny and cannot hurt me.”

  “Are you believing this, Big Bad B?” asked Fred with a sneer in his voice. “Butt ugly here says he uses magic swords to wipe his ass. How his dumbass can tell the difference between his asshole and his mouth is a motherfucking mystery to me.”

  “Hard to believe,” replied Bardulf, circling the troll. The troll followed him, always keeping Bardulf in his front.