Fighter Fred and the Very Elfy Journey: Fighter Fred, #4

By Jason A. Holt

The Silverleaf Forest is cursed by an eternal winter. Twilight the elf must save his people by delivering the Amulet of Spring!

But what if simply handing over a shiny quest object isn't enough? What if the elves can only be saved by a fellowship of epic heroes?

Well, that would be too bad for them. Twilight's friends are not epic heroes. Twilight's friends are a barbarian who advertises underwear, a thief who insists she's a round-eared elf, and a mage who believes the answers to all life's questions can be found in The Adventurer's Guide.

Fortunately, they are also friends with Fighter Fred, the only guy cheerful enough to hold this fellowship together on their very elfy journey. Along the way, they'll fight monsters, burn things down, and collect experience points, because in Fighter Fred's world, that's what good friends do.
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Looking for Book 1? Read Fighter Fred and the Dungeon of Doom!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason A. Holt
• Release date: Nov 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781950841066

Book preview

Chapter One: In which our heroes fight.

Fred had not been to the Kobold Caverns for quite some time, but the place was pretty much the way he remembered it—dark, damp, caverny, and full of kobolds. The scaly, dog-faced monsters filled the corridor in front of him, waving their spears and snapping their teeth. Half as tall as Fred, the kobolds stood in rank after snarling rank, waiting for their turn to fight.

The stony corridor was wide enough for two people only. Beside Fred, Evelyn the first-level fighter was engaged in fierce combat. Fred’s combat was fairly fierce, too, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Pebbles scraped under Fred’s damp boots as he glided past an out-thrust spear and drove his sword into a kobold’s chest. With a howl, the monster collapsed to the stone floor and died.

Another stepped up to take its place, stabbing at Fred’s heart. Fred twisted to let the wickedly barbed spearpoint skate across his steel breastplate. He stabbed the new kobold in the throat. As this kobold fell, Fred slashed at the legs of the one attacking Evelyn. The creature yelped in pain.

Trying to seize her advantage, Evelyn lunged awkwardly and stabbed the kobold in the face. The monster gave up and fell down dead.

Good one! said Fred, because he wanted to be encouraging.

Evelyn gazed uncertainly at the body of the dead kobold and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t look like a fighter enjoying her work.

Mostly, she looked like a dumpling. Something about the way she wore her chain mail gave her a starchy shapelessness. She held her sword the way a cook holds a spoon when mixing dumpling batter. And as the next kobold in line charged at her, Evelyn reacted with the grace of a dumpling thumping onto a greasy plate.

Could Fred really teach this woman to be a fighter? Probably not. Probably, he should settle for getting her out of the Kobold Caverns alive.

Fred killed another kobold and said, Keep your guard up.

Evelyn raised her sword and a kobold stabbed her in the kneecap.

Ow! Evelyn scowled at Fred.

Fred killed the kobold for her and said, I meant, ‘Be on guard.’

"I was on guard," said Evelyn.

Fred killed his next kobold and thought about that. Maybe guard meant something different to Evelyn. After all, she had once been a guard at an evil temple, where being on guard meant standing around all day.

Fred tried to explain himself: When fighters say ‘Be on guard,’ we mean ‘Don’t get stabbed.’

Evelyn shook her head. That’s not helping!

It was the best Fred could do. Fred couldn’t tell her how to not get stabbed. Really, there were lots of ways. Fred caught a spear thrust with his sword and directed it into the rough stone wall. (That was one way.) Fred killed the kobold holding the spear. (That was another way.)

Is Evelyn wounded? asked Mak-Thar the mage.

Yes! said Evelyn, limping about on her bad knee, trying to keep a kobold from impaling her.

Okay, said Mak-Thar. It’s time to switch fighters again.

Mak-Thar had the best way to not get stabbed—he stood behind Fred, holding a torch so Fred could see the kobolds. But that wasn’t what Fred had meant by Be on guard! So apparently Be on guard! and Don’t get stabbed! weren’t the same thing after all. Teaching was hard.

Mak-Thar said, Goosifer, please take Evelyn’s place in the front rank.

Again? asked Goosifer.

What about me? asked Nightshade. When do I get a turn?

Nightshade was the party’s thief. Fred had been on enough adventures with Mak-Thar to know what his answer would be.

You never go in the front rank, said Mak-Thar. The front rank is for fighters only.

But I need to learn to use my sword, said Nightshade.

Fred killed a few more kobolds as Mak-Thar said, "No you don’t. According to The Adventurer’s Guide, all your attacks will improve at the same time. So it doesn’t matter whether you fight with your sword or your bow—you’ll get better at both."

"Well, maybe that’s the rule, said Nightshade. But it doesn’t seem very realistic. I think my thief would want a chance to practice her swordswomanship. That’s good roleplaying. Right, Twilight?"

From the back rank, an exasperated voice replied, Good roleplaying is not referring to yourself as ‘my thief’. Twilight was the sort of elf who had strong opinions on these things. "Nightshade, you are not a character. You are really in combat! Why is that so hard to understand?"

Well, sorry! I guess we can’t all be perfect roleplayers like you!

We aren’t players! said Twilight. "This is not a game! It’s a life-and-death struggle!"

Okay, Twilight. Whatevs.

Fred killed another kobold. He wasn’t sure what Nightshade meant by roleplaying. Usually, that meant talking to people. But Nightshade seemed to be implying that it also meant thinking about what she would do if she were a thief—which was weird, because she was a thief. If Fred had tried to think about what he would do if he were a fighter, he’d be too confused to fight.

We really do need to get Evelyn out of harm’s way, said Mak-Thar. Goosifer, please trade with her.

Fred killed Evelyn’s kobold so she could safely step back. A long-necked youth took her place.

Goosifer was another guard Fred had met on a previous adventure. Fred and Goosifer and Evelyn had all been guarding the Evil Temple of Evil, but Fred had really been one of the good guys. After overthrowing the temple, Fred had helped Goosifer and Evelyn find jobs in the Basetown city guard. Today, they had the day off, and Fred had promised to teach them how to be fighters, in case they ever wanted to quit the city guard and go on adventures instead.

Goosifer wasn’t much of a fighter, either. He was just a long-necked kid with a sword—which wiggled in his grip like a dying mackerel.

A kobold stepped up. Goosifer’s eyes went wide with terror. Fred killed the kobold for him, and another stepped up to take its place. The Kobold Caverns always seemed to send you as many kobolds as you could handle. And now that Fred was an experienced adventurer, he could handle a lot.

Goosifer, however, was really having trouble. Fred killed three kobolds for Goosifer before a stabbing pain in the foot reminded him that he also had to fight his own kobolds.

"There’s nothing for a thief to do on this adventure, complained Nightshade. Can I at least shoot my bow?"

Of course, said Mak-Thar. You should always shoot your bow at every opportunity. Just be certain you have a clear line of sight.

The fighters are too tall, said Nightshade. Next time we should bring a dwarf.

Stand here, said Mak-Thar. You can shoot between them.

An arrow whizzed between Fred and Goosifer, passing just under Fred’s armpit.

Ha! said Nightshade. Got one!

Goosifer glanced back at Nightshade and got stabbed in the gut. Fred killed the kobold for him, but it was already too late. Goosifer’s sword fell from his fingers and his knees buckled.

Oh dear, said Mak-Thar. "Not again. Sleeeep!"

Two dozen kobolds fell to the floor with a clatter of spears. The echoes of combat faded, replaced by the sound of two dozen kobolds snoring.

Fred sheathed his sword and caught Goosifer as he fell, easing them both down to a kneeling position. Evelyn stepped up behind Goosifer and supported his weight to keep him from falling over. The barbed point of the kobold’s spear was poking out of Goosifer’s back, so there was no easy way to lay him down.

Goose? asked Evelyn. Are you okay?

Fred was pretty sure Goosifer was not okay. Fred had been in lots of fights, and whenever some pointy thing had gone all the way through a person’s body and poked out through the other side, that person had not been okay.

Fighter down! called Nightshade. Fighter down!

Twilight stepped around Fred to get a better perspective on the wound. All the kobolds were dead or asleep, so Mak-Thar didn’t tell Twilight to stay out of the front rank right now.

Fred looked up at Twilight, hoping to see a reassuring smile. Twilight didn’t give him one. The elf’s face was clinically grim.

Fred, said Twilight, snap that spear.

Fred checked with Evelyn. Have you got him?

Evelyn nodded.

Trusting her to hold Goosifer upright, Fred seized the spear in both hands and snapped it.

Evelyn, said Twilight, pull the rest of it out.

Now it was Fred’s turn to hold Goosifer as Evelyn seized the pointy end of the spear. She stuck out her tongue in revulsion, but she pulled the remains of the spear out through Goosifer’s back.

Goosifer whimpered. Fred laid him gently on the floor.

Twilight knelt and placed his hands on the wound. Let this not be Goosifer’s time to die, he said. Please, Selene, glorious goddess of the moon, we beg for one more miracle to save this youth.

Goosifer gasped—a long, drawn-out breath traveling down his long, drawn-out neck. His hands seized Twilight’s, which were still pressed to his belly. Goosifer’s eyelids fluttered open, and his gaze met that of the elf.

By the grace of Selene, you are saved, said Twilight. Again.

Uh … thanks. Again.

Twilight nodded and withdrew his hands.

This was the third time Goosifer had been impaled today. He now had three holes in his chain mail. It was too bad that Twilight’s healing magic didn’t work on armor, too.

Well, that’s fortunate, said Mak-Thar, rubbing his scraggly beard. I feared we had cut it too close this time.

Why are we still doing this? asked Evelyn. I don’t want Goose to die!

Clawed feet tapped against the stone. More kobolds appeared in the torchlight, walking on tiptoe so as not to wake the ones sleeping on the floor.

Fred rose to his feet and drew his sword.

It does seem imprudent to push our luck any further, agreed Mak-Thar. Unless Twilight is willing to admit he has more healing spells?

Twilight shook his head.

Then let us be off, said Mak-Thar. "Sleeeep!"

The newly arrived kobolds all fell asleep.

* * *

Mak-Thar had a map, so he led them out. Like most mages, he led from the middle, with Evelyn and Goosifer in front, Fred and Twilight guarding the rear.

Fred didn’t mind guarding the rear, but he never bothered to do a good job of it. He just glanced over his shoulder occasionally. Walking behind Mak-Thar, it was important to keep most of his attention forward, so he wouldn’t run into the mage’s enormous backpack. Mak-Thar always had torches and lanterns and oil and tinder boxes and hammers and iron spikes and whatever else he thought he might need, and the only drawback to his extensive preparation was that his backpack was big enough to stun an ox.

Beside the mage, Nightshade bounced along like a puppy going for a walk. She wore a backpack, too, but it was small and spunky, like Nightshade. Five feet tall, sensibly armed, and dressed in black leather, Nightshade was always ready for anything—even when there was nothing to be ready for.

I’ll guard the rear! said Nightshade.

No you won’t, said Mak-Thar. The rear is our most likely attack vector. It’s too dangerous for you.

So why is Twilight guarding the rear? asked Nightshade. At least I have armor.

Nightshade didn’t have much armor—as a thief, she wasn’t allowed to wear armor like Fred’s—but it was true that Twilight was even less protected. The elf was wearing a blue vest over a frilly white shirt bloused over charcoal gray pants with matching blue piping. Twilight always looked sharp. Fred thought that was admirable, but he would rather be armored than admired.

Twilight is guarding the rear because elves can see in the dark, said Mak-Thar.

I’m an elf, said Nightshade.

You’re an elf? asked Evelyn.

Yeah, said Nightshade. You can’t tell, because my ears aren’t pointy? But I’m actually an Arctic elf, and the round ears are an adaptation to the cold.

She’s not an elf, said Twilight.

I am too, said Nightshade.

Can you see in the dark? asked Mak-Thar.

Totally, said Nightshade. I’ll prove it. Let me run ahead and hide in shadows.

We don’t need you to hide in shadows, said Mak-Thar.

Just for practice!

"You don’t need practice, said Mak-Thar. You need experience points."

Well, maybe I’ll get experience points for it, said Nightshade. Everyone close your eyes and then see if you can see me.

My guess, said Twilight, would be that we cannot, in fact, see you when our eyes are closed.

I mean, close your eyes while I hide, and then open them to look, said Nightshade. Duh.

Fred kept his eyes open. He didn’t want to run into Mak-Thar’s enormous backpack, and he didn’t want to trip over any dead kobolds.

They really had killed a lot of the monsters. Mak-Thar had collected all the corpses’ copper pieces and dropped them in a sack that Fred carried over one shoulder. The Adventurer’s Guide had a complicated system for converting the monsters you killed and the coins you picked up into a very large number which you could look up in a table to see how cool you were. The number was mostly for thieves and mages. Fred could tell how cool fighters were without doing any arithmetic at all.

We see you, said Mak-Thar.

Standing in the shadows near the mouth of the cave, Nightshade said, That’s not fair. Put out your torch!

The path ahead was now quite visible thanks to the sunlight filtering into the cave, so Mak-Thar put out his torch. We still see you.

Stupid character class, said Nightshade. When will I get sneaky?

Well, let’s see, said Mak-Thar, you’re second level now, and your chance to hide in shadows is what? Twenty percent?

Fifteen, said Nightshade.

Fifteen, echoed Mak-Thar. Oh dear. Well, just a moment.

They stepped outside into a warm summer day. Mak-Thar removed his enormous backpack and pulled out a battered, leather-bound book. Let’s see, how sneaky is sneaky? What chance of success do you want?

One hundred percent, said Nightshade.

There’s always a chance of failure, Mak-Thar admonished. Here it is. ‘Thieves’ Abilities—Hide in Shadows.’ You can get a ninety-nine percent success rate at fourteenth level.

That’s a long ways away, said Nightshade. How about even odds?

At eighth level, said Mak-Thar, your chance of hiding in shadows will be fifty-five percent.

Seriously? When I’m eighth level, I’ll still be mediocre?

Such is the cruelty of the table, said Mak-Thar.

"This character is lame!" said Nightshade.

Well, you do have an eighty-eight percent chance to climb walls, said Mak-Thar. But in all other thief skills, low levels mean low probabilities.

I wanna go back to being a mage.

When were you a mage? asked Evelyn.

Just a few months ago, said Nightshade. But then I took a drink from a magic spring, and I lost all my spells and turned into a thief.

You were always a thief, said Mak-Thar. Your spells were written on stolen scrolls.

Yeah, said Nightshade. But you have to know magic to use a magic scroll.

That’s true, admitted Mak-Thar.

I knew magic then, Nightshade insisted. And now I don’t. Stupid magic spring.

You were insufferable as a mage, said Twilight. I think the spring was good for you.

And it changed my ears, said Nightshade. Now everyone forgets I’m an elf. I have to keep reminding them.

"You aren’t an elf, said Twilight the elf. You never were. The spring returned you to your true form, remember?"

Nightshade nodded seriously at Evelyn. My true form is a round-eared elf.

Twilight was exasperated. You’re just short!

Twilight’s jealous because round-eared elves are more exotic.

Okay, said Twilight. You win. You’re exactly as insufferable as you were before. I stand corrected.

Fred thought the new Nightshade was a big improvement. Before the magic spring, she had been in the habit of dropping out of the party by falling unconscious for days at a time, possibly because she was astrally projecting. After the magic spring, Nightshade had helped them destroy an entire evil temple without falling mysteriously unconscious even once. The spring had definitely made her easier to adventure with.

Before we head back to town, said Mak-Thar, does anyone need healing?

Evelyn got stabbed in the knee, said Fred.

It’s just a scratch, said Evelyn.

Better let me look at it, said Twilight. You don’t want it to get infected.

No! said Evelyn. Don’t touch me!

Why ever not? asked Mak-Thar. If you’re below maximum hit points, you should let Twilight heal you. It’s much more efficient than natural recovery.

Goosifer looked confused. It doesn’t hurt, Evelyn.

Evelyn said, "It doesn’t hurt you because you’re neutral. I’m evil. Holy magic won’t work on me."

Mak-Thar said, Twilight doesn’t need to heal you with a cleric spell. He can just use Herbalism. It’s nonmagical, and his goddess will not be involved.

All healing is somewhat magical, said Twilight. And ’tis my hope that Selene watches over all that I do. But, Evelyn, you need not fear my goddess. Whatever wrongs you may have committed in your former life, Selene will judge you as she finds you now. As goddess of the moon, she is no stranger to changes and rebirth. She knows them well. Selene will give you a second chance … if you are willing to admit you deserve it.

Evelyn cautiously moved away, limping backward, facing Twilight, as though he were a growling dog who might be encouraged to leap upon her if she turned her back.

Well now you’ve scared her, said Mak-Thar, annoyed. "Look, if you would just read The Adventurer’s Guide—"

Ignoring Mak-Thar, Twilight stretched out a hand toward the retreating Evelyn. Be not afraid! Oh, Evelyn, can you not see? Your fear is what is causing you harm. You have my word no evil shall befall you.

"But I like evil! said Evelyn. I want it to befall me."

Twilight frowned, perplexed.

I’m fourth-generation evil! said Evelyn. I can’t let holy clerics look at my knees. What would my mother say? She turned and tried to run away, but her knee was still hurting her, so after a few steps she stopped running and just sort of hobbled away.

Mak-Thar scowled. Honestly, Twilight, do you have to be so dramatic? Not everyone wants to take their healing with a dose of theology.

But Twilight did have to be so dramatic. Fred didn’t know much about healing, but he knew that if there was anything written about it in The Adventurer’s Guide, Twilight would want to do it a different way. Whenever Mak-Thar talked about his rulebook, Twilight became contrary.

The elf had been adventuring with Fred and Mak-Thar for several months now. Why did he still feel threatened by Mak-Thar’s rules?

Chapter Two: In which Evelyn is evil. Sort of.

Fred didn’t like seeing Evelyn leave on bad terms, so he caught up to her and offered to walk her back to Basetown.

I promise we won’t let Twilight heal you, he promised—which sounded like a dumb promise as soon as he promised it, but it seemed to convince Evelyn. She stopped trying to hobble away, and she agreed to stay with the party until they divided treasure.

Goosifer caught up to them and started babbling about their old life as guards for the Evil Temple of Evil.

Evelyn can’t help it, he said. "Her father was a guard at an evil temple. And his father was a guard at an evil temple. And his father was a guard at an evil temple. Evil is in her blood!"

Evelyn nodded. It’s in my blood.

Sure, said Fred. He kind of understood. His parents were chicken farmers. And no matter how many adventures Fred went on, a part of him would always be a chicken farmer. Fred wasn’t sure which part—it probably wasn’t his arm, because it would be weird to have his arm be a chicken farmer when he needed it to hold his sword—but some part would be. Maybe his left earlobe could always be a chicken farmer. That wouldn’t get in the way of swordfighting much.

Because Evelyn was limping, the others caught up to them fairly quickly. Mak-Thar and Twilight were still arguing.

My devotion to Selene is not a number! Twilight’s voice was full of frustration.

I’m not talking about your devotion, said Mak-Thar. I’m talking about your cleric level. Think of it as your rank within your church.

We have no church. We have no ranks. Service to Selene is without hierarchy!

But some elves can cast more spells than others, insisted Mak-Thar. Right?

The magic is not mine, said Twilight. I am merely the conduit of natural forces which surround all life and bind us all to one another.

But you can only be a conduit so many times per day, said Mak-Thar. "If you would stop arguing long enough to tell me how many times per day that is, I could consult the Cleric table of The Adventurer’s Guide and figure out what level you are. It would be useful information."

Would you weigh the song of a sparrow? asked Twilight. Would you slap a ruler on a sunset?

Weighing sound doesn’t make sense, said Mak-Thar. But a ruler should work for measuring the height of the sun, as long as all your observations are made from a point that remains fixed relative to the ruler.

What are they talking about? asked Goosifer.

Mak-Thar is talking about magey things, said Fred. And Twilight is talking about elfy things.

I’m trying to figure out Twilight’s level, said Mak-Thar.

And I’m trying to make him understand that the beauty of this world cannot be quantified, said Twilight. But his heart is dead to the wonders around us.

Nonsense, said Mak-Thar. I enjoy a pleasant summer’s evening as much as the next person. But I also enjoy keeping the party alive. Your insistence on withholding tactical information makes that more difficult.

"But Twilight doesn’t want to be tactical information, said Nightshade. He wants to be all cool and elfy. He won’t tell you his level because he’s afraid you’ll turn him into a hit-point dispenser."

Fred hadn’t expected that. Twilight had as many arguments with Nightshade as he did with Mak-Thar. Fred couldn’t remember a time when Nightshade had come to Twilight’s defense.

Twilight blinked in surprise. "Thank you, Nightshade. I hadn’t quite realized it, but that is how I feel. Quantifying Selene’s gifts devalues them."

Mak-Thar shook his head. "I don’t see how assigning something a value could devalue it. But if my inquiries made you feel less appreciated, Twilight, I do apologize. We are all very grateful for your spells and