Everybody Wants to Rule the World Except Me

Book 0: Dark Lord Davi

by Django Wexler

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure

Synopsis

Dark Lord Davi rules the kingdom, but she must now break the time loop that binds her in this hilariously bloody conclusion to the Dark Lord Davi duology.
 
After countless failures (let’s not dwell on it), Davi has finally saved the kingdom from evil–by becoming the Dark Lord herself. But now, the hordes of wilders are at her command, and they still want blood. Human blood. And Davi’s not sure she can commit to the total extermination of humanity.  
 
With restless armies at her doorstep, a treasonous duke scheming for power, and the legend of an ancient magician looming over her shoulder, Davi must find a way towards peace and uncover the truth behind her time loop if she is to bring harmony to the kingdom. Also, her girlfriend is mad at her. So, there’s that too.

Release date: May 27, 2025

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 384

Sample

In the far northeast of the Kingdom, a small river winds its way from north to south for the space of a few dozen miles before it turns west toward the sea. Along that stretch, the water represents the unofficial border between the domain of humanity and the endless, hostile Wilds. Human hunting parties may range beyond it, but only if they accept the risk of meeting dangerous beasts or, worse, a band of wilders looking for two-legged game. Midway along this stretch of river is an old stone bridge, crumbling but still functional. At its western foot, clinging to the muddy slope of the hill, is the human town of Shithole.

Shithole is a brown town, made of brown logs and brown bricks, peopled by peasants whose clothes, whatever color they might have been originally, are in practice perpetually daubed with the brown of the native mud. And not only mud—much of the business of the town concerns sheep and horses, who are grazed on the far side of the river and driven back at night. Their liberal contributions to the town’s economy are obvious to anyone with a functioning sense of smell.

On this particular day, the slurry of dung and mud is being further churned by a pounding rain, and the setting sun is barely a suggestion in an overcast sky. A small queue of people and animals has formed by the stockaded eastern end of the bridge, shuffling slowly across to the west bank and safety before night falls. In among the hunters, shepherds, carters, and their assorted charges walk two mysterious figures in dark cloaks, one tall and one short.

Their hoods leave their faces in shadow, but as the short one looks up, a flash of lightning briefly illuminates a brown-skinned face flecked with freckles. Not a classically beautiful face, certainly, but also not without its charms: a nose that might be considered hatchet-like but, in the right light, could also be described as striking, and eyebrows that might need a bit of plucking and pampering but are basically pretty sound, and overall, a general sort of nobility of purpose and bearing that speaks to an intense depth of character.

RECORD SCRATCH.1 Yup, that’s me. Me, Davi! I was doing a narrative thing so we could have kind of an establishing shot. Hopefully it wasn’t confusing.

I’m not that short, I just look it next to Tsav, who’s tall even for an orc and sticks out like a beanpole in this crowd of humans. There’s no convenient lightning flash to illuminate her features, but I don’t really need one, since I’ve familiarized myself with every inch of them. She has a sexy bald head and sexy green-gray skin and sexy little tusks at the corners of her mouth that make kissing her exciting for reasons beyond the usual.

Needless to say, those adorable orcish features would be a death sentence anywhere in the Kingdom. Wilders are personae non gratae, or perhaps worse: Since they have thaumite embedded in their bodies, they’re more like walking treasure chests for the Guild2 to plunder. As we get closer to the bridge, this is starting to weigh on my mind.

There are a couple of guards there, huddled under oilskin cloaks and nodding approval at the sheep as they go past. I’m not sure how many people are eager to sneak into Shithole and sample its fabled bounty, but here we are. The hunters get closer scrutiny, and since that’s what Tsav and I can most plausibly claim to be, my tension rises further.

“Hey,” one of the guards says as we reach the front. He holds his spitting torch a little higher. “Let’s see those faces.”

Shit. Probably not a good idea to start off my time in the Kingdom with murder. I pull my hood down and elbow Tsav, who slowly does likewise. The guard gives her a long look, examining her tusks and green skin with surprising unconcern.

“Don’t know you two,” he says with a glance at his companion. “First time through?”

I nod. “We went out another way.”

“You paid your hunting tax? Or do I need to search those bags?”

That would be interesting, but also probably a bad idea. “We’re paid up.”

“Gonna have to see your chit,” he says. But his tone is arch, and he raises one eyebrow.

Yup, message received, thanks. I dig a couple of silver coins out of my belt pouch and hand them over. The guard grins, and his hitherto-silent partner speaks up.

“You know, I think I remember these two,” she says, as though narrating to an invisible audience. “I saw their chit last time.”

“Oh, really?” The first guard feigns irritation. “Well, get on through, then. You’re holding up the line.”

Classic. They should be onstage. I put my hood back up—stealth benefits aside, it’s still pouring rain—and tug Tsav onto the bridge.

“Well,” I mutter, “that worked.”

“You said you were sure it would work,” Tsav growls back.

“Pretty sure. Mostly sure.” I waggle a hand. “Fifty-fifty.”

She rolls her eyes. “Glad I didn’t near piss myself for nothing.”

“Around here nobody’s likely to notice.” I survey the main street—well, the only street—and the services Shithole has to offer. “Come on, let’s get out of the rain.”

It occurs to me that I may need to back up a little.

After all, when we last left our brilliant, beautiful, charming heroine, she was standing in the midst of a massive horde of ecstatic wilders, having just been handed the title of Dark Lord along with the emphatic expectation that she lead the forces of the wild in glorious conquest-slash-genocide of the evil humans, et cetera et cetera.

And look. When I started this little venture, I might have gone for it! I mean, I’m not sure I ever really expected to get all the way to Dark Lord, it seemed impossible, but having done it, I’d probably have taken the chance to be the bad guy for once. It’s not like I haven’t seen the Kingdom levelled by Dark Lords several hundred times before, this would be a new perspective on the process. I’d just need to make sure to capture Himbo Boyfriend Johann, maybe make him wear one of those leather slave outfits for a while. Then eventually I’d get bored or possibly assassinated and go back to the beginning like always.

But things have changed. My last death inexplicably sent me back not to the usual time and place but only a day earlier! And I have no idea what will happen if I die again. If I can’t go all the way back, everything that happened on the way to the Convocation is permanent, all those people are really dead, and if I go too far down that line of thought, I end up in a very dark place because I killed super a lot of people for not very good reasons, actually.

Not thinking about it, la la la! All I can do going forward is assume that whatever I do now has a chance of becoming permanent as well. Which means (a) I need to, you know, not die as much as possible, and (b) leading a merry orgy of death and destruction in the wreckage of the Kingdom is off the table, and not just because it might damage Johann’s perfect ass. I may be a little twisted after a millennium of this, but not enough to wipe out a whole civilization with no reset button.

So when I take my bow and escape from the crowd, I already have a plan in mind. Well. More like a set of objectives that may become a plan in the fullness of time, even I can only scheme so fast. But clearly two things need doing:

First and most urgently, I need to prevent the horde from destroying the Kingdom. This is harder than it sounds. But, Davi, you might say, you’re the Dark Lord now! Surely you can order the horde to just, I don’t know, start planting daisies. Which sounds great but this is real life (kind of) and not War-Artisan IV, I’m an actual person and not a disembodied hand in the sky clicking on stuff. The wilders follow the Dark Lord because they think it’ll get them what they want, which is apparently DEATH TO THE HUMANS; if I don’t play along, maybe they’ll decide that Hufferth or Sibarae has the Mandate of Heaven after all.

Secondly, let’s not forget the Johnny Cash revelation(s) from under the city. If I’m reading things right, I am not the first person from Earth to come to this world. I don’t know exactly what that means, but it has to be related to my whole deal, right? I refuse to believe that it’s a coincidence that I’m stuck in a time loop and I got sucked here from another universe. And if this were a human city, way out here where supposedly no humans have ever lived, it rings some faint bells vis-à-vis the Kingdom’s mythology. I never took it very seriously, but supposedly the Eight Founders brought the people to the Kingdom from some unspecified other place. It bears investigating.

After a break for a bath and some therapeutic screaming,3 I dress in my Dark Lord-iest outfit and convene the new, expanded Dark Council. The roll call is:

Artaxes—high priest of the Old Ones, supposedly, and perennial assistant to Dark Lords. Badly in need of a good oiling. Who knows what he looks like under all that iron?

Sibarae—leader of the snake-wilders. Goes around topless, no boobs. Not to be trusted. Ate my fingers that one time.

Hufferth—leader of the minotaurs. Poisoned by Sibarae but got better. Also goes around topless. His pecs have pecs.

Tsav—my main squeeze and a captain of the horde. Leader of the orcs.

Mari—leader of the fox-wilders and a captain of the horde. Smol but fierce.

Droff—leader of the stone-eaters. Rock-monster. Unable to tell a lie and has trouble with flowery language.

Fryndi—pyrvir ex-bandit and a captain of the horde. Crotchety.

Leifa—unofficial leader of the sveayir, the low-caste pyrvir who accompanied us en masse. Quiet and calm, but sharp as hardened steel when needed, like a gentle grandma who used to be a Navy SEAL.

Jeffrey—mouse-wilder with adorable ears and a John Wayne drawl. Scout and trailblazer.

Not present:

Amitsugu—former fox-wilder leader, kinda-sorta my ex, currently imprisoned for having me assassinated.

Not invited but present anyway:

Odlen—young pyrvir princess and political exile. No idea how old she’s supposed to be, but mostly doesn’t talk and focuses on biting things. Fortunately, still lacks teeth. Leifa usually watches her, but currently she’s gnawing on Fryndi’s boots.

This group is too big for our previous Dark Council tent, even if we make the eight-foot-tall Droff sit in the doorway, so instead we’ve appropriated a room in the city center building. It’s dusty and as the setting for a Dark Council lacks a certain je ne sais quoi,4 but for the present I can make do. As I’m about to inform the participants, I’m not going to be here very long.

“Welcome, everyone,” I say. “So glad you could make it. Really means the world to me. Couldn’t have asked for better minions.”

“I am not a minion,” Sibarae hisses. She can hiss anything, even a sentence with no sibilants. She also has no sense of humor.

“Am I a minion?” Hufferth says amiably. “What’s a minion?”

“It means something like ‘close companion,’” Tsav supplies, which makes it hard for me to keep a straight face.

“Anyway,” I cut in. “I’m the Dark Lord now. The Old Ones have spoken, right?”

I look at Artaxes, who makes a noise somewhere between an affirmative grunt and a creak of rusty metal. Then I switch to looking at Sibarae, who scowls but lowers her eyes. Hufferth nods and gives me a cheery smile.

“And you will lead us,” Artaxes says unexpectedly, “to destroy—”

“The humans. Absolutely. We are totally going to do that. But we need to be a little careful about it. Have any of you actually been to the human Kingdom?”

I make a show of looking around, though I know they haven’t. Well, none except Tsav, who used to lead a band of raiders that would sometimes burn a farm or two. But she knows her part in this and says nothing.

“Well, I have. In fact,” I add, improvising, “it was traveling there that inspired me to become Dark Lord. I’m here to tell you that humans will be tougher opponents than you realize.”

“I’ve fought against humans,” Sibarae says. “So have many others in our ranks.”

“You’ve fought against Guildblades,” I tell her. “And only the very craziest of them would come out this far. There’s a long way between a handful of mercenaries looking for plunder and a proper human army decked out in war magic.”

This is true enough. If the various lords of the Kingdom could stop feuding and fucking one another’s spouses long enough to form a proper army, they might actually be able to give the wilders a run for their money. I’m coming off a thousand-year run of failure that attests to the difficulty of getting them to work together, but the wilders don’t need to know that.

“We’ve got plenty of scary fuckers on our side too,” Hufferth points out. “I’ve never heard of a band half this big.”

“Horde,” I correct him. “We’re a horde. And, yes, that’s true. But it comes with concomitant logistical problems.”

Hufferth blinks uncertainly.

“We need enough for everybody to eat,” Tsav explains.

“Supplies here are ample,” Artaxes says in a voice like a depressed robot.

“Here,” I say, stabbing the table with a finger to emphasize the point. “But we’ve got a ways to go, don’t we? Over the mountains, across the Firelands, and down through the forest to the Kingdom’s border. We’re not going to be able to haul everything with us.”

“There are many bands between here and there,” Sibarae says, waving a dismissive hand. “We will simply take what we need.”

“That is not the way this horde operates,” I shoot back. “We’re destroying the humans, not other wilders.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Hufferth says. He sounds bored already—apparently, he doesn’t have a great attention span.

“Move slowly and carefully. Droff, start figuring out what it would take to get everyone over the mountains with enough reserves to make it to the Kingdom.”

“Droff will begin,” Droff says. His voice is deep but surprisingly mellow for a rock-monster. “The task will take considerable time.”

“I know. In the meantime, we’ll focus on organization and training. Fryndi, Mari, we’ll talk later, but that’s going to be your job.”

Fryndi gives a lazy wave, as though this is his due. Mari looks uncertain but nods.

“Hufferth, Sibarae, you’ll work with them to get your people on board.”

Hufferth frowns, and Sibarae narrows her eyes.

“And what will you be doing?” she says, again managing a sibilant-free hiss.

“Scouting.” I grin. “Tsav and I will be going to the Kingdom.”

For a few moments, everyone starts talking at once. I hold up my hands for order and wait for them to quiet down.

“It’s been years since my time there,” I lie smoothly. “And charging in blindly is a recipe for disaster.”

“Doesn’t mean ye have t’ go yerself,” Jeffrey puts in. “One o’ us could—”

I cut him off. “None of you have any experience with the humans. You’d be killed or captured long before you could report back.”

“But Tsav is an orc,” Hufferth says. “Even humans would notice that, right?”

“And it would take far too long,” Sibarae says. “A journey all the way there and back…”

“You underestimate your Dark Lord,” I snap. “I have my ways of hiding Tsav. And I won’t need to journey back—Mari will be in charge while I’m away, and she’ll get the horde moving when she judges the time is right.”

“I will?” Mari squeaks.

Tsav, who knows the plan already, kicks her under the table until she quiets. The others go silent, too, digesting everything I’ve said. Sibarae glares at me and I hold her snaky gaze.5

“I still don’t like it,” she mutters eventually. “We should simply march now.”

“Yeah,” Hufferth says, gesturing vaguely. “Food and stuff will take care of itself, it always does.”

“Then it’s good for everyone that I’m Dark Lord and not you two,” I say. “I don’t intend to arrive at the Kingdom and face the human army with half a starving horde.”

“Attention to detail is commendable.” Artaxes’s metallic voice startles me, since he’s been silent for a while. Rusty iron grinds as he turns his head. “But you should remain with the horde. Scouting is an unnecessary risk.”

This, really, is the crux of it. If anyone has the authority to derail my plan, it’s Artaxes, whose vague mandate from the Old Ones carries weight with all the wilders from beyond the mountains. I try to stare him down, too, but it’s impossible to see his eyes within the darkness of his helm.

Nothing for it but to double down. “I say it’s necessary, so those are my orders.”

“It is an unwise course,” he says.

“Am I Dark Lord here?” I ask him. “Or not?”

A long, long pause. Around the table, everyone holds their breath.

“You are the Dark Lord,” Artaxes grinds out. “The Old Ones have spoken.”

“Good.” As long as he’s on board, the others won’t stray. I try not to let the relief show in my face, but my insides have gone all wobbly. “Okay. Those are the basics. We’ll check in later on the details.” When nobody moves, I wave my hands. “Dark Council dismissed!”

“You’re putting me in charge?” Mari says.

We’re walking rapidly back to our own camp. In spite of everyone theoretically being one friendly horde now, the wilders who came with me over the mountains—orcs, fox-wilders, stone-eaters, pyrvir, and assorted volunteers, call them the Old Guard—are still keeping to themselves, as are the snake-wilders and Hufferth’s minotaurs. The rest of the Convocation wilders, who by numbers make up the bulk of the horde, are scattered around the perimeter of the ruined city in smaller groups.

“Yep,” I say.

“Of the horde,” Mari says. “The whole horde.”

“Yep.”

“They won’t listen to me.”

“They will, or they’ll feel the Dark Lord’s wrath. You heard Artaxes.”

“You won’t be here!”

“You can deliver wrath in my name.”

“But—” The little fox-wilder chews her lip. “There must be someone else.”

I glance around. Tsav is close behind us, but the rest of them have already split up, and nobody’s within earshot.

“Who?” I ask her. “Not Hufferth or Sibarae, obviously. Fryndi thinks all non-pyrvir are lazy idiots—that’d go over well. Droff is… Droff, he’s not exactly suited to command. Leifa’s not a fighter. And Amitsugu tried to murder me.”

“So I’m the last choice?” Mari says grimly.

“No!” I could probably have phrased that better. “You are smart and brave and the person I trust the most after Tsav. The fox-wilders love you. Droff will help, and Leifa. You’ll be fine.” I think. I hope.

“I…” Mari takes a deep breath, looking back over her shoulder at Tsav. “I’ll do my best. But I’m still not sure I understand everything.”

“That’s because I haven’t told you everything. Come on.”

I hurry to the small house I’ve been sharing with Tsav. It’s partly wrecked, but we’ve covered over the gaps in the roof with canvas, and it’s really become quite homey. Our sleeping furs are a big tangle at one end, with other gear scattered about the floor. Just over there is the spot where Tyrkell’s assassin stabbed Tsav, and over there is where she broke Mari’s head against the wall—

I shake my head to dispel the memories of events that never happened. Not in this life, anyway. Not to anyone but me.

“Okay,” I tell Mari and Tsav. “Sit.”

They sit. I stand, pacing nervously. I’ve talked this over with Tsav, how much to take Mari into our confidence. I still don’t want to tell her everything, the whole time loop story, but she needs to know more than the rest if this is going to work.

I take a deep breath. “So. You know I get visions of the future.”

“Yeah.” Mari looks uncomfortable. She’s never been a true believer in the destiny side of things.

“If I lead the horde against the Kingdom, it’s not going to go well.” This is probably a lie; without my help, I suspect the Kingdom would get steamrolled. But I don’t want that to happen either, obviously. “Not only would we lose but it would make them much more aggressive. Every wilder living anywhere near the border would eventually be wiped out.”

Mari’s eyes widen, and she looks from me to Tsav and back.

“But,” she says, “you told everyone you were going to attack. If you know it won’t work…”

“It’s not that simple.” I sigh heavily. “You saw what they’re like. If I tell them we’re not going to attack, they’ll turn on me in a second. We’ve got to manage this more carefully.”

“And that’s why you’re leaving?” Mari seems close to panic. Tsav puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, and the little fox-wilder takes a deep breath.

“The wilders hate the humans because the Guildblades hunt wilders for their thaumite and to expand human territory,” I say. “If we’re going to have any chance of peace, we need to get them to stop doing that. I think I have a way, but it means going there myself, and I’ll need Tsav’s help.”

“You’ll just… convince them to stop?” Mari says.

“Something like that.” I grin. “Trust me.”

“And meanwhile, I’m in charge here.” She seems to be coming to grips with the idea. “Doing what?”

“Everything I said: training, organizing, moving toward the Kingdom, but slowly. I’ll need time to get there and get things moving. If it all works out, by the time they hear there’s an army of wilders approaching the border, they’ll be ready to make peace. And then…” I falter briefly, because I haven’t really thought about and then. Not getting everyone killed seems like a solid start, though.

Mari, fortunately, is lost in thought. Tsav catches my eye; she looks worried. We’re asking a lot of Mari, but I’m convinced she’s up to it. She’s a lot tougher than she looks.

“I can… try,” she says eventually. “But…”

I brace myself internally. Here’s where it gets a little tricky.

“I have something that will help,” I tell her. “But I need you to trust me.”

Her brow wrinkles. “Of course I trust you.”

“Wear this.”

I take a necklace from my pocket. It’s a simple leather thong tied around a polished purple crystal about the size of a grape. Thaumite, of course. Purple is one of the trickiest varieties, dealing with matters of the mind and perception. This particular stone is already imbued with a spell I cast the night before. It’s larger than it really needs to be, both to make up for not being cut into an ideal shape and to act as a power reserve to make it last longer. If I’ve done this right, it should function for half a year or so before it runs down.

What makes this the tricky part is that using thaumite this way is human-style magic. A wilder could eat this stone and, once it was processed and appeared on their body, derive power from it. But no wilder can do what I’m about to do, which is why I don’t do it where anybody can see. On the other hand, most wilders aren’t really familiar with magic and its effects, especially anything more subtle than a fireball. And Mari trusts me, which means I hope we can get through this without her freaking out. Tsav, of course, knows the whole story.

“W-wear it?” Mari says. “Why?”

“Just try it,” Tsav says gently.

Hesitantly, she slips the necklace over her head. I put my hand in my pocket, where a second chunk of purple thaumite sits, and mutter words of power under my breath. The spell comes to life, and I focus my thoughts.

[As long as you wear it, I can speak to you like this.] My voice is projected directly into Mari’s mind. She startles, her tail fluffing out and her ears standing straight up.6 [Think hard, and I can hear you.]

[You can hear me thinking?] she sends back.

[Only if you want me to.] I grin. [I’m not going to be spying on your naughty daydreams.]

Her face flushes a little and she looks down at the stone. “I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“It’s not common knowledge,” I say. “In fact, I suggest you keep the stone hidden from everyone. Don’t let them know we communicate. But this way, you can keep me up to date and I’ll help however I can, no matter how far away I am.”

This is, if not a lie, then an oversimplification. I can actually do the telepathy trick within a relatively wide radius whether the target is wearing a beacon stone or not: many miles for people I know well, considerably shorter for strangers. The problem is always picking out a mind from background noise, and the greater the distance, the harder that gets. The thing I’ve given Mari, what I call a beacon stone, is a very simple—and thus long-lasting—spell that provides a signal for my mind to latch on to. I haven’t tested it on a planetary scale, obviously, but it ought to be good over hundreds of miles, enough to cover the distance from here to the Kingdom.

It’s not just to help Mari cope either. My plan, to the extent that I have one, is going to require me to tell the horde what to do once they get closer. As much as anything else, that’s why I want Mari in charge. I don’t think any of the others would be comfortable with this.

[If I think like this,] she sends, [you hear it?]

“Exactly,” I say aloud. “You’ve got it.”

There’s a long pause. Mari seems to be gathering herself. When she finally speaks, her expression has hardened.

“Okay.” She blows out a breath. “What exactly do you need me to do?”

So that part went okay! Better than expected, even. I brief the rest of the commanders on their new duties, and then Tsav and I sneak out of the camp like thieves in the night, so everyone wakes up in the morning with Mari in charge.

We have to climb back up into the mountains and brave the pass again, but it’s considerably easier this time. We’ve got good gear, plenty of food, and most importantly, I’m now free to use magic to help. I’ve gone without it for the past few months, at first from necessity since I didn’t have any thaumite anyway, and later because I didn’t want to risk giving the game away to the wilders. Tsav knows all my secrets, though, and my satchel is full of the stones I liberated from the anus-mouth worm, which was quite a haul. There are enough large crystals in various colors for me to use anything in my arsenal. A little fire channeled through a red stone is enough to keep us warm and toasty, even at altitude.

Once we’re through the pass, we’re back in the Firelands. We give the lands of the Jarl a wide berth rather than retrace our steps, since I have no idea how things played out there after Tyrkell got himself exiled. It’s a lot easier to make our way as a pair of travelers than it was as an army, especially with enough thaumite in my pack to barbecue a mammoth. Anything that troubles us does so only very briefly.

When we’re not walking, we spend our time on a variety of useful pursuits:

a) Gem cutting, at which I’m fairly proficient. You use the heat from red thaumite concentrated down to a tiny beam to shape the gems and enhance their magic. A cut gem will still be usable for general-purpose applications, but will be much stronger and more useful for whatever task it’s designed for. That’s the basics, anyway, though there’s a lot of ar. . .