Martin Greenberg: If I Were an Evil Overlord

Copyright © 2007 by Tekno Books and Russell Davis.

Introduction copyright © 2007 by Russell Davis

“If Looks Could Kill,” copyright © 2007 by Esther M. Friesner

“The Man Who Would Be Overlord,” copyright © 2007 by David Bischoff

“Ensuring the Succession,” copyright © 2007 by Jody Lynn Nye

“The Life & Death of Fortune Cookie Tyrant,” copyright © 2007 by Dean Wesley Smith

“Daddy’s Little Girl,” copyright © 2007 by Jim C. Hines

“Gordie Culligan-vs.-Dr. Longbeach & The HVAC of Doom,” copyright © 2007 by J. Steven York

“The Sins of the Sons,” copyright © 2007 by Fiona Patton

“Loser Takes All,” copyright © 2007 by Donald J. Bingle

“The Next Level,” copyright © 2007 by David Niall Wilson

“Advisors at Naptime,” copyright © 2007 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

“A Woman’s Work…,” copyright © 2007 by Tanya Huff

“To Sit In Darkness Here, Hatching Vain Empires,” copyright © 2007 by Steven A. Roman

“Stronger Than Fate,” copyright © 2007 by John Helfers

“Art Therapy,” copyright © 2007 by Nina Kiriki Hoffman

Russell Davis

In the movie The Return of the Jedi, at the climax of the film (WARNING: SPOILER ALERT-IF YOU ARE ONE OF THE TWELVE PEOPLE ON EARTH WHO HASN’T SEEN THIS MOVIE, THE FOLLOWING MAY WRECK IT FOR YOU), with Luke Skywalker is on his back, the Emperor standing over him and shooting cool bolts of Force lightning into his body. Darth Vader stands nearby watching his son die. It’s over for the Jedi and the Rebel Alliance. Evil has won. Then Vader allows sentimentality to get the better of him and he picks up the Emperor and throws him down a bottomless pit to his death.

I have to admit that when Vader grabbed the Emperor, one of the first thoughts that ran through my mind was, Don’t do it, you fool! You see, the sad truth is that I kind of like rooting for the bad guy.

I have a strong background in role-playing games, particularly fantasy role-playing games, and as a player character, I’ve crossed paths with innumerable bad guys, often in the guise of an Evil Overlord. They’re always doing the same kinds of things: crushing the peasant population; ravaging a beautiful, young princess; stealing and taxing and in general making life as miserable as possible. It’s hard not to enjoy their antics. (Fortunately, I’ve also played Evil Overlords, so I have some sense of how to face them. And have yet to have been bested by one, though I suspect that they didn’t have the advantage of reading this anthology.)

The concept of a list of things one might consider doing should one, in fact, become an Evil Overlord has been around a long time. It’s been one of the longest running jokes on the Internet, forwarded via e-mail and found on numerous Web sites. Many of these lists touch on fantasy, science fiction, even mystery and thriller tropes and cliche’s that speak directly and humorously to those who enjoy role-playing games and novels in these genres.

It’s worth noting that the “Evil Overlord List” by Peter Anspach is certainly the most popular and widely known of these lists, though by no means the only one, nor even the first one. In the dim, dark year of 1984, a group of friends and I developed a very similar list called “The Rules of Oblivion,” which took to heart such statements as, “Take nothing for granted. That rabbit may be armed.”

For this anthology, we challenged fourteen of today’s best authors to come up with a story about an Evil Overlord and what he or she (not all Evil Overlords are men) should consider doing to protect themselves and their dark realms. Many writers, such as Esther Friesner and David Bischoff, came through with enjoyable tales featuring familiar characters and offering plenty of laughs. Others, like David Niall Wilson and Steve Roman, took a more serious approach-which has, I admit, left me wondering what they might be plotting next.

But no matter how a writer approached the subject, as the editor (the ultimate Evil Overlord in this anthology, one might say), I got the pleasure of reading and reviewing them all… and now I get the added pleasure of sharing them with you. In short, the pleasure is all mine, but I hope it will be yours, too.

Funny how being an Evil Overlord in the publishing field has these little perks, isn’t it?

Enjoy!

– Russell Davis

Sierra Vista, Arizona

“Oh, shut up,” said Prince Lorimel, tossing his long, golden hair in a peevish manner.

It was a bad idea, under the circumstances. The manacles holding his slender-yet-powerful arms were ancient oxidized relics of the previous owner of Castle Bonecrack. (In fact, up until the moment of Prince Lorimel’s incarceration, they had held the last few skeletal remnants of the previous owner of Castle Bonecrack, per orders of the current management of said premises.) They did their job well enough, but the wear and tear of centuries-to say nothing of the corrosive teardrops of a succession of luckless prisoners-had roughened the iron with colonies of thorny rust that snared any soft and silky thing unfortunate enough to brush against them.

Case in soft-and-silky point: A handsome elf prince’s glorious, gossamer hair.

Result: “OW! This is all your fault, Gudge.”

“Aw, now, Master m’lud Lorimel, don’t ’ee be takin’ on so, naow.” The coarse yet good-natured voice of Prince Lorimel’s companion-in-shackles (though not comrade-in-arms) echoed through the foul dungeon. It was this same voice, nattering about how stone walls did not a prison make, that had provoked the prince’s outburst, with concomitant hair-tossing, in the first place. “I di’n’t do nowt t’ yer Worship’s purty hair, nay. See, ’tis as I told yer Reverence’s noble pa, lo these many turns agone, ‘The best thing a wise elf prince can do fer hisself when it so happens as he’s misstepped matters and ended up in some evil overlord’s dungeon is bide his time all still an’ quiet-like, waiting fer what must come.’ Yer Eminence’ll notice that still part, as means yer not to move more’n needful, ’cos squirmin’ about’ll only-Well, I expect yer Highness has found that out fer yerself already, what with yer purty goldy hair all of a tangle and-”

“Gudge?” Prince Lorimel interrupted.

“Aye, m’lud?”

“Shut up .”

Sweet silence descended upon the drear and dreadful dungeon once more.

It was not to last, of course. Prince Lorimel was an elf, right enough, and as such, immortal. The long lines of the years spilling into centuries and even eons gave the elves the rare ability to wrap the glowing silence of their own deep thoughts around them like the comforting warmth of a well-loved blanket. Also, most elves ran out of really interesting conversation before they hit their three hundredth birthday.

But the prince’s retainer and fellow captive, the being known as Gudge of Willowstone-Thickly, was not an elf at all. What he was, was open to some debate among those wizards who found fascination in such blood-and-breeding puzzles. Evidence pointed to the short, fubsy, somewhat swarthy fellow having a mix of troll and brownie ancestry, seasoned lightly with a bit of pixie (on account of his ill-governed tongue), and perhaps a soupc¸on of goblin. All of this, however, was strictly on his unknown father’s side. His mother was a full-blooded human girl who really should have been a bit more circumspect in her choice of Midsummer’s Eve companions. From a midnight frolic between the rows of barley, Gudge of Willowstone-Thickly took his life’s beginning, and from a subsequent amorous alliance of his mother’s with a slumming elf lord came his introduction into the court of the Lofty Elves.