The Dark Lord Bert 2 by Chris Fox (bookstand for reading .TXT) 📕

don’t know why, but…there’s something about the sky rock.” Kit tapped her lip and adopted that dreamy far off look that Bert rather liked. “I think there’s something from the real world, but I don’t know what it is. I…I worry about giving it to White. What if it doesn’t destroy him? What if he’s able to use it somehow?”

“Bert don’t even know what rock do.” Bert gave a tiny shrug. All his shrugs were tiny. “Eye of Soreness don’t know. Dark lords don’t know. No one ever seen before. White might be powerful, but Bert think he no different than elves. Poof.”

“I hope you’re right.”

So did Bert. If he was wrong, stopping White fell upon his tiny shoulders, and he didn’t know what he was going to do.

27

Deal with Him

The Dark Lord White sat atop the highest throne in the highest tower of his newly upgraded Keep of Deadly Death. He could now manufacture eleven hundred wights an hour, and because undead troops did not eat there was no upkeep. He could have an infinite army…for free.

That army needed a general of course, but he had that. Crushstuff loved the role, and the ogre had proven surprisingly able. He had trolled the trolls so effectively that they’d flipped, and had begun working for White.

The undead ogre stood on the far side of the room, pestering Sir Patrick with questions. White usually tuned their conversations out, but he’d been supremely bored for days now, and any distraction was welcome.

“How exactly,” Crushstuff was asking, “do I become a death knight? I want the red eyes. Mine are just sort of…dead. It ain’t very intimidating.”

“You have to go to Raven’s Loft.” Sir Patrick folded his arms and eyed the ogre judgily. “It’s a small bookstore down on fourth. There you will learn the awful price of becoming a death knight.”

“And what is this awful cost?” White demanded, interested in spite of himself.

Sir Patrick rose to his full height, and planted his great sword against the stone. His voice came low and somber as he related the answer. “Seventy-nine ninety-five. You don’t even get a kit. It’s just a PDF explaining that you have to die tragically after an incredibly evil act. I could have just Googled it.”

White should have known better than to get involved in the conversation. He was saved from having to chastise the knight yet again when one of the last people he expected to see came striding through the throne room doors.

That was possible because White had made no move to secure his keep. Why should he? He’d become twelfth level in a class that even he admitted shouldn’t exist. White had the best spells and abilities from every class in the game, and a few that he’d made up entirely.

If any adventurers wanted to unseat him they were welcome to try.

The diminutive figure who strode through the door wasn’t hostile, though, which saved his life.

“Nutpuncher,” White spat the word at his former friend. “The traitor returns. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill and animate you right now?”

“What kind of bonuses will that give me?” Nutpuncher sidled up to the lowest step at the base of his plastic throne.

“Dude, you should totally do it!” Crushstuff rushed over, and the ogre offered the gnome a fist bump. “We could be dead buddies. Roll around and wreck stuff, like we used to. I just beat down these trolls, and they kept respawning, and I kept wrecking them, and eventually they gave up. They work for us now.”

“Where did you send them?” The gnome perked up, and appeared to be his old self, which raised White’s suspicions. He trusted no one.

“I sent them to mess with the dwarves.” Crushstuff gave a rotting grin. “They’re infesting the whole kingdom. It’s pretty hilarious stuff.”

“Nutpuncher.” White leaned forward, looming over the gnome. “Crushstuff may have accepted your return, but I have not. You’ve spent a great deal of time in the company of Kit, who did not return, I see. Where is she, and why have you returned?”

The gnome’s shoulders slumped. “She hates you and won’t come back. We headed into Keeble Forest to find a sky rock, and turns out that Bert had it. The goblin built a dungeon, and is hiding the magic rock. I wanted to steal the rock, but as you can imagine Kit—”

“Wanted to work with Bert.” White leaned back on his plastic throne, and laughed uproariously as he reveled in being right. “You thought she’d be a fun adventuring partner, but she betrayed you to work with an NPC critter. Is that how it went?”

“Yeah.” Nutpuncher kicked at the stone dejectedly. “Listen. I haven’t forgiven you. You’re a real prick, White, and you expend party members like you get a volume discount or something. But Kit has gone native, and I want XP. You’re twelfth level! Even after working with Kit I’m barely halfway through ninth. I don’t want to be the weakest one.”

Crushstuff began to snicker. “I’m already tenth. Guess that makes you the weakest one.”

“See?” The gnome balled his fists. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have rocked the boat. But you need to be less of a prick, White. This needs to be fun like it used to.”

White considered the gnome. He appeared sincere, and didn’t possess many ranks in the bluff skill, so it was unlikely he’d be able to lie convincingly.

“I might agree to do that.” To his own immense surprise White meant it. Ruling over everything had grown rather boring, and while there were still plenty of lands left to conquer, it lost its luster when you knew ahead of time you were definitely going to win. He’d gotten lonely. And bored. “I’ll be nicer, and take your needs into account. I will even share more power, if you will come back to the White side.”

Nutpuncher gave a resolved nod. “Then I want back in. I’ll tell you all about Bert, and how to get to the dungeon.