The Swordsman: A Pulp Harem Fantasy Adventure by Zack Archer

Author:Zack Archer [Archer, Zack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Harem, Fantasy
ISBN: 1720128189
Google: BtWduwEACAAJ
Amazon: B07GQGXQKC
Publisher: Penguin Random House South Afr
Published: 2018-09-06T17:40:36+00:00

19

Mossheart exited the Range Rover and looked up at the skull-colored moon. He smiled.

It was a very good omen.

He and Manny were standing on the street in a neighborhood full of ultramodern homes, many of them 20,000 square foot structures on 21,000 square foot lots. In front of them, beyond a stone and steel gate and wall, was a massive, multi-tiered estate that looked like a wedding cake propped up on a handful of fluted, gold columns.“This is it, Mister Mossheart,” Manny said. “This is where the producer Harlan Bale lives.”

“The man must be an emperor.”

“Pretty sure he thinks he is.”

They approached the gate and Manny spotted a security box and buzzer. Mossheart stepped aside and allowed Manny to conjure up a ball of flames that he used to melt the box and gate lock.

Mossheart pulled the gate open as he and Manny moved across a paver walkway, the grounds manicured like a park, everything covered in slate and polished stone, fountains and sculptures here and there. Mossheart made sure to step only on every fourth paver, following a pattern only he could see.

They neared the front door and Manny paused. “What do you think happened to Beowulf?”

“Hopefully something excruciatingly painful.”

Manny pointed to the door. “What happens if Bale doesn’t have what you need?”

“Then we’ll leave,” Mossheart replied.

“Just like that?”

Mossheart grinned. “Just like that. After all, Manny, I’m not an unreasonable man.”

Mossheart turned and violently assembled a ball of plasma that he touched to the door, causing it to burst from its hinges. The door imploded and Mossheart led Manny inside, into a foyer that seemed like it was constructed from acres of shiny marble and glass-etched walls, bejeweled chandeliers, and King Louis-style furniture.

A figure was standing at the other end of the foyer, a tall, regal looking man in black slacks and jacket with a wolf-like face. Manny had seen the man before on the TV or in a magazine, he couldn’t remember which.

“Mister Bale,” Manny gasped.

“Who the fuck are you?” Bale replied.

Mossheart mimed a bow. “Ludovicus Mossheart at your service.”

“And I’m Harlan Bale, dickhead. Let me be the first to say that you have made a serious mistake.”

Bale pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “Harlan Bale,” Mossheart added softly, wagging a finger. “Your name. Ten letters. A full number. Do you know what that means?”

Bale shook his head.

“It means that it can either portend greatness or disaster.”

Bale waved his phone. “It’s going to be a disaster for you, asshole, because I’m calling the police.”

“Not before we have a little talk.”

“What the hell do you want?”

Mossheart grinned. “Much.”

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