Attack of the Fairytale Zombies! (3 page)

“Get serious, Barth!” The king shook his head and the beaver pelt toupee shifted further down the side of his scalp. “This town needs dead monsters. The shopkeepers and whorehouses are depending on you to help boost the economy.”

“What am I supposed to kill?”

A sly, wicked, and totally cliché grin slowly spread across the king’s face. “Start with that dragon friend of yours. Once other monsters get wind he’s dead, they’ll try to ravage the kingdom.”

Barth’s heart slammed against his chest. Not literally, because then he’d probably have had a heart attack and died. But metaphorically speaking, that’s exactly what happened.

“So you want me to kill my best friend and put the kingdom in peril all for a few tourism dollars?”

“Exactly.” The king laughed maniacally as he brought the tips of his fingers together in front of him, kinda like a prayer pose, but his palms weren’t touching. No, this pose made him look more introspective, as if he was thinking of a vile plan.

“And if I refuse?” Barth asked.

“Look, I wasn’t going to give you another chance, but Wizard Dilligaf talked me into it.” As if by magic, the candles in the room suddenly dimmed, and a large spotlight shined down on the king to emphasize the drama of the moment. The king pointed an accusatory finger. “If you don’t kill that dragon by the break of dawn, you’re fired!”

“W-what?” Barth stammered.

The king narrowed his gaze while twirling the tip of a gold-plated pencil on his desk. “There’s a hundred other knights lined up to take your place. Understood?”

“Perfectly,” Barth said tersely before rising. “I’ll just be on my way.”

“Wait just a moment.” The king leaned over and grabbed Barth by the arm, despite the wide expanse of the gold-plated desk between them. “In order to ensure the job is done, I’m sending my son with you.”

“You’re sending a teenager to babysit me?” Barth scoffed. “The prince is hardly out of the nursery.”

“Shhhh.” With wide eyes, the king scanned the room and looked over his shoulder. “My son no longer goes by the title of The Prince,” he whispered rather loudly.

“What?”

The king rubbed his temple as if to demonstrate that he suddenly had a headache. “The therapist says it’s just a rebellious teenage phase, so humor me by humoring him.”

“What shall I call him?”

“The Artist Formerly Known as The Prince.”

“What the hell?” Folding his arms across his chest, Barth leveled the king with an irritated glare.

“Just take him, would you?” The king pleaded. “Get him out of my hair for a while. His depression is depressing me.” He motioned toward a servant who’d been standing by the door, conveniently quiet as a mouse during this entire scene. “You there, royal kiss ass, or whatever your name is, summon my son.”

“Yes, my liege.” The servant bowed before exiting.

After a reasonable amount of time, but not too long, so as not to slow down the pacing of the scene, a pimply-faced, gaunt young man entered the room. His scraggly black hair hung in his eyes.

“Mighty Dragon Slayer Barthalamew Huganut the Tenth,” the king bellowed, “allow me to introduce my son.” The king elbowed Barth in the side.

Barth took his cue and bowed. “A pleasure to meet you,” he lied.

The boy answered with a dark scowl.

“Son,” the king said, “the dragon slayer is going on a valiant quest and he requests that you accompany him. He’d like a portrait to capture the moment of his crowning glory.”

The boy pretended to pick imaginary grime out of his fingernails. “I don’t feel like it father. I’d planned an entire day of moping about and pretending my life sucks.”

“Very well, then.” The king heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I could find another artist to draw the mighty hung dragon’s final moments.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “I’ll get my sketch pad.” He quickly exited the room.

“That’s a good boy.” The king fondly smiled as his gaze followed his retreating son. He then turned his attention back to Barth. “He’s been wanting to sketch the dragon’s huge penis for quite some time.”

“Your son sketches penis pictures, and you’re okay with this?” Barth asked, his voice laced with incredulity.

The king shrugged. “This is all part of his teenage phase. I paid the therapist a great deal of money to tell me this.”

“Does he like to paint anything else?”

The king’s eyes lit with something akin to pride. “He’s expressed a fascination with Dilligaf’s eye. You should see the beautiful eye images he’s drawn—some with pink hues, some with bits of stubble, some with giant, oozing pustules.”

“And I thought I had problems,” Barth mumbled.

“Is that a troll wearing a helmet?” Drag scrunched his large features while examining one of the sketches on The Artist’s tablet.

“No, dumbass,” the teen scoffed. “It’s a penis.”

Drag arched a massive brow. “So let me get this straight, you only draw pictures of Dilligaf’s eye and penises?”

“Uh…yeah,” the boy answered with a sarcastic edge to his pubescent voice.

Drag sat back and eyed Barth while thumbing toward The Artist. “This kid’s got some issues.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Barth leaned against a tree trunk while glaring at the kid. For some reason, Barth wasn’t surprised that the offspring of the royal dickwad had issues. But he had bigger problems at the moment, like getting his friend safely out of Fairytale Kingdom before the king sent his other knights to slay him.

The Artist bent down on one knee and extended an arm, looking as if he were about to recite an ode to Drag. “Oh, mighty dragon, rumor of your anatomy is legend. Might I have the honor of sketching an image of your monolithic penis before the dragon slayer kills you?” The teen turned toward Barth. “Or maybe you could be so kind as to cut it off after you slay him so that I might capture its final moments with my quill and paper, before his mighty penis decomposes and is ravaged by flesh eating slugs.”

Drag’s crimson scales suddenly took on a greenish hue as his wide gaze settled on Barth. “Slay me? Sever my penis?”

“I’m not going to slay you,” Barth groaned.

The Artist stood and planted both hands on his hips. “But my father ordered you to.”

“You’re not the only one who bucks the stereotype,” Barth scowled at the little freak before turning to his friend. “Drag, we have to flee the kingdom. ‘Cause if I don’t slay you, the king will just get another knight who will.”

“Well, that sucketh muchly.” Drag folded his arms across his massive chest while pouting. “The seamstress won’t have my new gown ready for at least a week.”

Barth rolled his eyes. “This is serious, Drag.”

“I
am
being serious.” Drag stomped a foot, shaking the ground beneath them. “I hocked the last of your family’s silver to pay for it. Where do we go now?”

“I don’t know.” Barth rubbed his chin. “I haven’t given it much thought. I’m just so mad right now. That shriveled balled bastard!” He thrust a fist into the air for emphasis. “Come on.” He motioned for Drag to lie down so he could mount his back. “Let’s go before Prince Penis rats us out.”

Barth hoisted himself up Drag’s side using a rope. He then climbed into a saddle that looked way too small and disproportionate, more like a thumbtack on the huge dragon’s back. But rather than pretending he was a Ken Doll strapped to a horse wearing a dress, Barth held his regal head high and tried to look cool while a slight breeze whipped his dark hair around his face.

“I won’t rat you out.” The Artist pushed his bangs behind his ears before looking up at them with pleading eyes. “I want to explore the world and all of its wondrous penises.” Clasping his hands together, the boy fell to his knees. “Take me with you.”

Drag’s booming laugh shook the air. “Fat chance, that.” He leapt gracefully into the sky and swooshed over The Artist’s head before letting out an explosive fart.

“You’re lucky that wasn’t wet,” Barth called down to the boy before he and Drag flew off.

* * *

“Crazy flying witch at ten o’clock.”

Barth leaned forward in his saddle and squinted into the sunlight. “I see her.”

Though the witch was a distance off, as Drag cautiously flapped closer toward her, Barth could make out enough of her crazy flight pattern to discern that she was either practicing some kind of an acrobatic maneuver or an evil wizard had placed an enchantment spell on her broom. Or she’d drunk a little too much magic potion and someone should have taken away her broom keys before she stumbled out of the tavern.

“Why in the hell is she flying like that?” Drag asked.

Barth shrugged. “Maybe she’s drunk.”

“Doesn’t she know she can be arrested for an FUI?” Drag snickered.

“Actually,” Barth cringed when he heard the witch’s ear-piercing screech followed by a plea for help as she struggled to hold on to a broom that was bucking around like a raging bull. “I think something’s wrong with her broom.”

“Should we go help her?”

“I dunno.” Barth squinted again. From this distance, all he could make out was her long black hair and curvy backside. “I can’t see her face from here.”

“She’s hot,” Drag purred.

Barth perked up in his saddle. “Then let’s go help her.”

Damsels in distress were usually more willing to give it up after their fairytale heroes saved them.

“Help me, please!” she cried through a frantic sob.

Drag flew right beneath the witch, who by now was dangling from the broom, clutching the handle with white knuckles.

Barth cleared his throat and willed his tenor to drop a few octaves as he prepared to unleash his sexy hero voice. “Let go, fair maiden.” He spoke with the dramatic sweep of one arm. “My dragon and I will catch you.”

The witch had only a moment to flash Barth a questioning glance before the broom bucked her off completely and sped away.

She screeched as she landed in Barth’s lap with a thud. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

When Barth looked into the witch’s wide, violet eyes, he thought his heart would melt. Except, not all the way, because then his heart wouldn’t be able to pump blood, and he’d die. It melted just enough so the reader gets that Barth was instantly in love.

“That’s okay.” He flashed a bright smile while wrapping one protective arm around her waist. “Are you alright?”

“I-I think so.” Her mouth fell open and her eyes clouded over as she wrapped a slender arm around Barth’s neck.

Barth silently prayed that the witch had been struck by Cupid, too, and that her dreamy expression wasn’t just the effect of smoking too much wacky witchy weed.

He sighed as he got even more lost in her gaze.

She sighed back as she wrapped the other arm around his neck.

Barth’s gaze was drawn to her perfectly pouty, ripe, swollen, budding, kissable lips. He instantly thought of how sexy those lips would look wrapped around a popsicle, or a hotdog, or a churro, or some other phallic object. And all he wanted to do at the moment was take her in his arms and kiss those succulent lips, while praying that she wasn’t infected with herpes, or that she hadn’t just gone down on a hobbit. Or if she had just gone down on a hobbit, that she had at least remembered to rinse three times with disinfectant mouthwash.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” he said breathlessly, “but first, have you gargled with peroxide?”

Her face contorted into a massive frown. “Huh?”

“Hey, Romeo,” Drag growled from beneath them. “Quit flirting with the witch. We’ve got big problems right now.”

“Will you shut up?” Barth kicked a large scale with his boot heel before turning his poetic gaze back on the pretty witch. “I’m sorry about him.”

“That’s okay.” She flashed a playful smile, revealing pearly white, even teeth.

Barth exhaled a sigh of relief. She’d obviously put forth a lot of effort into her perfectly white smile, so she probably wouldn’t defile such expensive dental care on hobbit dick.

Drag landed with a thud on the forest floor, squishing a few squealing pixies and talking rabbits in the process.

Barth quickly dismounted and then called out to the witch to climb down the rope ladder on the side of Drag’s back. He inwardly smiled while enjoying how her tight, short black skirt exposed long, shapely legs.