DRAGONPANTS BOOK I: HUBERT THE BARBARIAN SLAYER

                     A HUMOROUS SHORT STORY BY MARK LINEHAN

                     (C)OPYRIGHT 1993, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED










        I remember the day well, almost like yesterday except it was today. I
was travelling that long stretch of road between the free-city of Manes and the
township of Denrich, alone as usual, except for my stalwart mule, who always
took the brunt of my trading. The load this time was fairly light, and old
Hubert, that's my mule, seemed exceptionally willing to make the trip. Which I
wasn't about to ponder on too long, for fear he might at any moment take a seat
in the shade of one of the many oaks which lined the road. Hubert liked the
shade a lot. What Hubert didn't like were nomads, or barbarians as some call
them, and that's exactly what came crashing through the trees startling my mule
and I so badly I thought I would need to change my pants. This large brute of a
man was thrashing his large arms wildly about his body, and I thought he had
gone awry until I noticed the equally irritated bees which were buzzing madly
around the hapless warrior. Now this would be enough to talk about for a month
usually, but it got even more involved.

        I noticed that some of the bees had made their way over to Hubert, who
I might add was doing nothing to annoy these nasty little insects. At first his
skin just twitched here and there, and his tail swished back and forth, as the
barbarian danced absurdly around Hubert. Then all at once, one of the bees must
have stung Hubert in an awful place, as he spun round twice and started kicking
and bucking like a wild stallion. Normally, seeing Hubert move at anything more
than a forced crawl would elate me, but on the fourth kick he buried his hooves
full force into the side of the warrior, who was already under assault by the
bees. The nomad came right off his feet and landed about four feet back at the
base of a tree on his backside with a grunt. Hubert must've realized what he'd
done, because he settled down right after that. The bees also began to disperse
as well.

        Everything happened so fast that for a moment I was awestruck by all
the excitement and I couldn't get my feet to move. Then, when they finally
broke free of the ground, I was hesitant to approach the nomad, who was at this
point getting to his feet, and he didn't appear charmed at making our
aquaintance. "Vershena Fohm!" The large hairy man bellowed, seemingly at
Hubert. I wasn't sure what this meant in barbarian-ese, but I had a good idea I
wouldn't want to say it in church.

        "I'm sorry about Hubert friend, he must've gotten stung by those damn
bees." I tried to assure the warrior. "He's normally as friendly a mule as you
can find." I shook a finger at Hubert in a scolding fahsion. Not that Hubert
cared one bit.

        "Stupid animal." The nomad growled. "Stupid animal, should be for food,
not travel." The thought of eating Hubert, or any mule, didn't exactly wet my
appetite. I knew the barbarian was fighting mad, I could see it in his eyes. He
must have been feeling humiliated as well as beat-up.

        "Perhaps there is some kind of compensation I could make for the ill
tempered actions of my beast?" I inquired as pleasantly as I could, although I
could feel sweat begining to bead up on my forehead. The barbarian paused for a
moment as he sized up my mule, for a platter I was assuming, then he looked at
me, and then at Hubert once more.

        "Maybe I should kick you into the bushes!" The nomad scowled.

        "Now I don't think that would solve anything, do you?"

        "Shut up."

        He was obviously not a man of logic. I was hoping he was just trying to
intimidate me with empty threats, but alas, I was wrong. The nomad came at me
striding, and a look of bloodlust ran over his face. Let me tell you, in all my
travels I have never seen such a frightening thing as an angry barbarian. I was
about to close my eyes and begin a prayer when the nomad, as he stepped by
Hubert, gave my mule a shove right in the backside which, I would have gladly
warned him ahead of time, is the one place Hubert hates to be touched. That's
when it hit me! Not the nomad. The bees! They must've stung old Hubert right in
the butt! That would explain his erratic behavior! I was about to enlighten the
nomad of this, but even as these thoughts were coursing through my head, old
Hubert up and kicked that warrior again, right in the same spot, and sending
him reeling right into the same bushes.

        My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my toes at this point.
Sweat was pouring down my face, and I was frozen with fear. Old Hubert had
surely done us in with that move. I knew I was going to die, and most likely
end up cooked and served as a side dish. The main course of course being
Hubert. I was motionless. I'm not even sure if I was breathing. I just stared
at the behemoth who lay motionless in the bushes. So still. He was too still.
In fact he was out cold! Completely unconcious! "Time to leave." I thought out
out loud, and grabbed at Huberts bridle. I was just begining to pull on Hubert
when the hulking warrior groaned.

        My heart sank into my stomach as, from over Huberts head, I saw the
nomad getting to his feet. If looks could kill friends, I'd have never been
born. Except this time the barbarian didn't even come at me. He went straight
for Hubert. Unfortunately for him, he didn't make it out of the bushes because
one foot had become tangled in some sort of a root. It was almost humorous at
this point watching the nomad topple forward, a look of idiotic surprise
washing away the anger that had been there mere seconds before. I was still
pulling on Hubert as the warrior fell to his face, but Hubert was apparently no
longer in the mood for the rest of the trip, and he would not budge.

        "Hubert you damned fool!" I screamed anxiously. "Move now or you're
going to get basted over a fire pit!" and with that I gave a good hard pull on
Huberts tack, which definately put him at the end of his temper, because, for a
mule who was usually very passive, old Hubert started kicking again.

        Now wouldn't you know that fool nomad was just getting to his hands and
knees when Hubert let fly with those hooves of fury, and landed a good solid
kick right in the warriors face. I remember hearing a distinctive crack sound
as Huberts hoof rammed into the barbarians face, and he fell again like a sack
of rocks.

        Well, that nomad never got up again. At least not the whole time I was
digging him a shallow unmarked grave, and not the whole time I spoke a few
words of the lord for him, praying for God to overlook this mans behavior and
take allowances for his obvious lack of intelligence. The rest of the trip,
thankfully, was a dull one. Didn't see a single solitary soul all the way to
town. Tonight I am going to get drunk and curse nomads all night. As for my
mule; well. It's apples and oats tonight, for Hubert the barbarian slayer.