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

“Okay, boy. Go!” Bert hung onto the wagon and Boberton burst into a run.

They raced down the cobblestone road away from the Tomb of Deadly Death, and into Bobertown. Bert waved at everyone he passed, but very few people waved back. That was okay. He supposed people ought to find dark lords intimidating.

Boberton galloped by bakeries, with the wonderful aromas of pies, and weapon shops, and the monster shop of course, as they wound down the hill and toward the gate that led through the wall and out into the wilds.

Ratlings swarmed the line of people entering the town, their little paws eagerly relieving visitors of a portion of their gold. Bert hated the necessity, but paying for new walls and cleaning up the streets cost far more coin than he felt it should.

He’d reduced some expenses through clever use of critters, but it still cost an awful lot, and he needed to find a new source of gold soon. Perhaps he could find something valuable on his adventure. Perhaps the stone itself would be valuable.

Bert wondered an awful lot about that stone as Boberton wandered over the stone bridge, and they finally left the town behind. The sun had hit its zenith, and had already begun slinking down the other side of the sky.

Boberton carried them unerringly along a well repaired road, something he’d paid for but never had a chance to enjoy. Bert had never headed up into the moist mountains, because very few adventurers had reason to head into Keeble Forest, and because most moist things were genuinely unpleasant. Unless they were also gooey and chocolatey.

As they wound up the trail and into the mountains Boberton began to pant, and tongues lolled out of both mouths, but he never slackened or slowed. It would have taken Bert days to walk the same trail even if he were not carrying anything at all, and he wondered just how fast Boberton would get if he never stopped growing, as the shopkeeper had promised.

It quickly became apparent how the moist mountains had earned their name. A thick mist clung to every slope, which both cut visibility and made everything damp. Why hadn’t they been named the misty mountains? Or the damp mountains? Perhaps those names had been taken.

At long last they made it to the top of the pass, and for the first time Bert beheld Keeble Forest below him, in all its splendor. He could see bits of it from the tallest tower window, but only a few bits, and they were mostly boring green trees. No offense to trees, green or otherwise.

Now he spied the elf towers, which broke the evergreen canopy. Those trees were taller, but otherwise identical, save that little streamers of smoke rose from the ovens where they baked their cookies.

Apparently high elf cookies were simply delightful, but having never tasted them Bert couldn’t attest to that fact. They were too far away to smell, but perhaps tomorrow.

“Look, boy!” Bert pointed at a faint green glow on the far side of the forest. “That’s the flaming rock. Looks like it’s still there. Bert bets the high elves will help us find it.”

Lefty gave a cavernous yawn, which caught both Righty and Bert himself. All three of them yawned together, and he realized he would need a place for them to spend the night. Bert scanned the pass, and while there wasn’t anything like a cave, there was a little ravine out of the wind.

“Boberton, take us there.” He pointed down below, and the dog sensed his need. The wagon rumbled into motion, and moments later Boberton backed it into the nice shelter of the ravine.

Bert fished out a plastic tarp he’d acquired from the dump in Paradise, then tossed it over Boberton’s back. The dog used both heads to pull the cloth about him like a coat. There was even a pair of little hoods Bert had sewn for the dog’s heads.

Bert withdrew a second tarp and affixed it to the spear tips lining the outside of the wagon. It took a while and wasn’t terribly efficient, but he enjoyed the process, and found himself humming as he erected his shelter for the night.

Life was pretty good these days. He had friends and magic, and was powerful enough to help people. The goblins had a better life now that his mum was the new G. Mayor, and the humans were much better off under him than they had been either the Kount or White.

Bert fluffed up his pillows, and sighed dreamily as he thought of all the adventurers he and Boberton would find. “Good night, boy!”

Righty gave a small bark, but Lefty had already drifted off to sleep. Bert lay awake for a long time staring down at the green glow in the forest. He wondered where Kit was. He didn’t have very many friends, and if there was anyone else he’d take with him into the forest besides Boberton it would be her.

Eventually Bert curled up among his fluffy pillows, and drifted off to sleep to the singsong of Boberton’s snores.

5

Bobertown

Kit stepped off the carpet, and gazed up in wonder at the city that had sprung up where $Placeholder had been. Pieces of the town still remained. The Tomb of Deadly Death loomed at the center of town, atop its massive hill, glaring at all the lesser buildings around it.

But so much had been added. The stone wall erected around the city was twice as tall, with parapets every hundred meters. At first she thought they were unguarded, but Kit realized there were precisely four crows standing atop each parapet.

“My god, he’s weaponized critters,” she muttered, impressed with the goblin’s ingenuity. “They’re guards.”

“What’s that sign say?” Crushstuff boomed, the half-ogre’s volume making Kit wince. “I can’t read. And I think I’m too loud ‘cause of the low charisma.”

“Bob-er-town,” White muttered as the wizard-necromancer strode over to the brightly painted sign, with a clearly recognizable rendition of Bert’s two-headed sidekick beside the